


Plague

by iamkathastrophe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Alternate continuation, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Demons, Domestic destiel, Established Relationship, Fever, Hunting, Hurt, Illnesses, Infection, Low-key Sabriel, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Season/Series 12, Post-Season/Series 12 Alternate, Season/Series 12 Spoilers, Sick Castiel, Worried Winchesters, domestic bunker, lying, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 08:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10213754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamkathastrophe/pseuds/iamkathastrophe
Summary: Dean, Sam and Cas go on a hunt like any other, but after they come back to the bunker, Cas learns that something is wrong with him.





	1. INFECTION

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on https://www.tumblr.com/blog/iamkathastrophe

Motes of dust dance in the dim moonlight piercing through dirt-covered windows. Almost completely still air is filled with a sharp stench of rot and sulphur. Dark walls are covered with faded spray-paintings, giving this cursed place an even more gloomy look. Emaciated rats run between trashes, pieces of wood and bones scattered on the floor.

            Dean walks slowly, carefully putting his feet down. He tries to breathe deeply, but high amounts of adrenaline rushing through his veins don’t help. He keeps his hand with the angel blade in front of him, ready to attack; with his other hand, he holds an open flask filled with holy water. He feels Castiel’s gaze on his neck. The angels walks right behind him, silent like a shadow.

            They have split up with Sam at the very beginning – he took the back, while Dean and Castiel walked to the front. They are supposed to meet in the middle, in the main hall of the abandoned building. Demons, damn them. They’re the ones responsible for the riots from the last weeks. They love chaos, feed on fear. Luckily, there weren’t as many of them as the Winchesters previously thought. Additionally, they’re weak. So weak it’s impossible that they’re behind anything bigger. That thought, somehow, is soothing.

            Cas and Dean reach the double doors. Dean looks back at Castiel, making sure he’s ready. The angel nods.

            The doors aren’t locked. They open and hit the walls with a loud bang as Dean gives them a solid kick. There’re four demons inside. Their black eyes shine with anger as they realise they’re surrounded. Sam is at the opposite side of the hall with a knife in his hand. He sends his brother a confident smile.

            They move at the same time. Dean swings his blade at the first of the demons, previously splashing on him some holy water. The hiss of burned skin is quickly cut off by a scream of pain. The demon’s body shook as it fell to the ground. With the corner of his eyes, Dean sees Cas killing another one, but the hunter’s stare wandered to his brother. Sam is ducking and moving around, avoiding strikes of a demon, while the other one is walking at him from behind. Dean wants to scream, to run and help, but he knows he wouldn’t make it on time. His heart stops for a second, but Cas is already sprinting in Sam’s direction, grabbing the sneaking demon by the head. The lights of dying demons dance on the dirty walls. Sam, Dean and Castiel look at each other, panting heavily.

            Another normal day.

*

            Dean throws his bag on the table and flops to a chair, rubbing his face. The hunt was simple, but arduous and tedious. His fingers are still stiff from grabbing the weapon for his dare life; the stink of sulphur still bites his nose.

            “Why dontcha make some coffee, Sammy?” he proposes, resting his legs on the table.

            “Why me?”

            “You’re the only one standin’.” Dean points at Castiel sat next to him. As usual, he’s completely lost in his thoughts.

            “Why won’t Cas do that? ‘s his turn.”

            “Y’know, he saved your ass. You couldda bring him some, too.”

            “Bite me.” Sam rolls his eyes and crosses his arms on his chest. “So, what you think?”

            “’bout demons?”

            “Yeah.”

            “God only knows.” Dean reaches for the whisky carafe and pours some to his glass. Since nothing implies that a steamy mug of delicious caffeine will magically appear in front of him in the nearest future, he can at least drink something stronger. “They’re normal, not even crossroad’s. ‘n’ weak. Probably bored. Y’know ‘em. Right, Cas?”

            Castiel jerks his head as he hears his name. He looks at the Winchesters confusedly, pulled out of his train of thoughts.

            “Yes,” he admits, straightening his back. “They were nothing extraordinary.”

            “Maybe you’re right,” this time Sam is the one to grab the carafe, “And it’s really nothing.” He takes a sip. “It’s not Lilith, Lucifer, Abbadon, Dick, surely not Crowley, so…” He shrugs.

            “’s been quiet,” notices Dean, “Not _completely_ quiet, but, hey, for now no demon, angel or leviathan wants to destroy the world. For us it’s holidays!”

            “ _For now,_ ” points out Castiel grimly, “I’m afraid it might be a beginning of something worse. Quiet before the storm.”

            “You know how to comfort a man, huh?”

            “I am simply trying to think rationally. Given our previous experiences, I think that…”

            “Rest isn’t for us and soon we will, again, have to face some terrible danger?” finishes Sam, his eyebrows slightly raised.

            “I truly do hope I’m wrong and we… we have a bit of peace. _Finally_. I pray for it to be.”

            “Oh, you _pray_?” Dean gives Castiel a crooked smile. “Funny, whom to? The Big Brother who has us all shoved up his…”

            “Dean,” said Sam loudly.

            “Sorry, Cas.”

            Castiel shakes his head.

            “It’s nothing.” He looks at his big hands. “I do not want anything to threaten your lives. I… I just want to protect you.”

            “I know.” Dean’s tone becomes serious. “ _We_ know. Don’t ya think we don’t.”

          “’Tis what’s family for, isn’t it?” Sam raises his glass in a toast. “For sticking together and having each other’s backs. So, have my back,” he jokes as he finishes his drink. “I’m exhausted. Goin’ to bed. G’night.”

            Dean and Castiel sit at the table for few more minutes after Sam leaves. They are silent. However, it’s not the kind of silence between two people who feel unsure around each other, or have nothing to say. No; this silence is comfortable and familiar. Almost soothing. There is no tension or nervousness; words simply aren’t necessary.

“Alright,” says Dean, putting his feet back on the floor. He stands up and stretches, struggling to stop himself from yawning. “Enough ‘f that. Wanna watch a movie?” He looks at Cas. “We still got a bit of ‘Lord of the Rings’ to see.”

            “If you want to, then so do I.” Cas stands up too.

            Dean gives him a warm smile, green eyes shining. He reaches out and puts his hand on Cas’ shoulder.

            “Thanks for today. Really. You saved Sammy.”

            “That is what I’m here for. You know you can always count on me.”

            “Yeah, I know. C’me here.” Dean pulls Cas closer and hugs him tightly. The angel returns the hug, carefully wrapping his arms around the other’s waist. One of Dean’s scarred hands strokes Cas’ neck.

            Some time ago their relationship became… different. Deeper. It’s stronger, yet somehow more fragile. Sometimes Castiel thinks that it’s like a priceless object made out of glass so thin, his touch could easily break it. But… it is good. Even though he still doesn’t quite understand, he’s still careful and he can’t get rid of the constant fear lurking at the edge of his consciousness, he knows it’s how it’s _supposed_ to be. As he stands so close to Dean, feeling the warmth of his body and breath on his neck, Castiel knows that nothing he has ever experienced in his being seemed to be so… _right_. Like all the puzzle pieces jump into their places and he himself wakes up from a deep sleep.

            Dean backs away a bit, only enough to be able to kiss Castiel. The angel with pleasure welcomes the, familiar yet, warmth washing over his vessel; his _body_. Who would have thought that all of it would start from that. From such a small, almost trivial act as a kiss. Dean was drunk back then. When for the first time he grabbed Cas by the coat and kissed him like the world was going to end. Of course, they could have just forgotten about it, put it all on insobriety. But they didn’t. It was too late; there was no turning back. Besides, none of them really wanted to just forget.

            Sam doesn’t know. He doesn’t have to, at least not for now. First Dean and Castiel have to get used to it themselves. To what has appeared between them. Or rather –  has been there for a long time, but none of them had enough courage to admit it. But it’s not important anymore. They finally did and only that matters.

            After a few wonderful seconds Dean breaks apart with a little sigh. A light blush creeps up his stubble-covered cheeks. He looks beautiful.

            “So? Wanna finish that movie?”

            They move to the room the brothers turned into a home cinema a few months back. On a shabby carpet, they put a tired small couch and two armchairs at the edge of falling apart. There’s also a round coffee table, a shelf for films and a big flat-screen TV. Castiel doesn’t ever want to ask where they got it from.

            Castiel sits on the couch waiting for Dean to set the film, his eyes never leaving the hunter.

            “Where’d we finish?” asks Dean as he sits next to Castiel, TV remote in his hand. He pulls his knees up to his chest and leans against Castiel.

            “If I remember correctly, you said that the next scene was supposed to be the last battle.”

            “Eh, so ‘s almost end.”

            The sounds seeps from the speakers as pictures begin to move on the screen. Castiel tries to focus on the plot, but his thoughts keep running away to how _nice_ he feels. He slowly reaches out and puts his hand around Dean’s shoulder which is welcomed with a content hum. Dean takes his hand in his, eyes fixed on the TV.

            Castiel tries to find an appropriate word to describe how he feels, completely ignoring the film. This feeling is entirely strange to him: he’s completely sure he’s experiencing it for the first time. Surely it’s nothing negative, yet sometimes it makes him embarrassed of uncomfortable. It is definitely something more than relief, content or relax. It is intense, strong but at the same time gentle and soothing. It is… _good_. Castiel feels happy.

            He feels happy being able to stop his constant worrying and simply enjoy the ability to spend time in Dean’s company.

            Dean…

            Castiel can’t stop looking at him, remembering all the little details of his face. The intense green eyes, stubble-covered jaw and a nose dusted with freckles so fair one would have to look closely to notice them. Castiel knows that there’s no such thing as perfection in the human world, but that’s exactly what Dean is for him: perfect. Castiel adores everything about Dean starting from stiff hair and low voice to his specific smell; the smell Castiel would differentiate from thousand others. Mint, plain soap, whisky, old leather and gunpowder. Dean smells like home. And his soul. His soul is the most beautiful soul Castiel has ever seen.

            White letters pour down the black screen. The film is over. Dean turns in his place, looking at Castiel.

            “You like it?” Dean still holds Castiel’s hand.

            “I do. I enjoyed it much more than the previous film we’ve watched together.”

            “You mean the last film or the last ‘Lord’ part?”

            “The film.”

            “Good. You got taste.” Dean turns the TV off and rests his head on the angel’s shoulder.

            “You should go to sleep,” says Castiel.

            “I know,” yawns Dean. “What abboutha?”

            “I do not require…”

            “You could stay with me.”

            They stare at each other for a long while. Castiel hears as Dean’s heartbeat goes heavy.

            “Oi, I ain’t proposin’ anything’!” says Dean quickly. “Dontcha think. Just… you don’t have to walk around the corridors all night, y’know? You could take a nap with me. ‘s enough space.”

            “I guess that some rest wouldn’t do me any harm,” mutters Cas quietly, almost shyly.

            There are many bedrooms in the bunker; way too many for anyone to count them. They all looked the same: a small room with a narrow double bed, a desk, a wardrobe and a commode. All except one. Dean made sure to put as many belongings in there to feel like home. Whatever it was.

            There are weapons hanging on the walls, beginning at shotguns and pistols, ending at the blade Dean used in the Purgatory. There is a gramophone sitting at the desk, right next to a collection of vinyls of such bands as Led Zeppelin or Van Halen. A young beautiful woman smiles from a small photo, a three-year-old boy in her arms. It is surprisingly tidy in here. The books are neatly organised on the commode, the bed is made and there isn’t even a tiny piece of dust.

            Dean goes to his wardrobe and takes out a clean T-shirt with a worn-outs AC/DC logo and oversized sweatpants.

            “Here” He gives it to Cas. “You ain’t gonna sleep in that coat, right?” He takes out a similar outfit from under his pillow. “Gonna take a shower. Be back in five.”

            Castiel is left alone. He looks around the room curiously, paying most of his attention to the photo. Dean and his mother look alike. She’s the one he’s got the hair colour and freckles from. They look happy. A journal bounded in leather sits right next to the photo. Cas is sure there are more pages in it than the first time he saw it.

            Eventually he turns his head away from the desk and looks down at the clothes in his hand. He can go to one of the countless bedrooms and just stay there. Or not sleep at all: he doesn’t need it, in the end. But he wants to stay in this particular room. He wants to spend as much time with Dean as possible.

            Castiel takes his coat and suit off, folding it carefully. His shoes sit next to the commode. With a bit of hesitation he puts the pajama on and glances at himself. He’s not used to such clothing; he feels rather… odd wearing it. But comfortable at the same time. The suit does limit his movements in a way, what cannot be said about the T-shirt. It was at least two sizes too big.

            He reaches out to put his coat on the chair as he understands that something is wrong. The room spins before his eyes, black spots cover the vision. The pain appears in his neck and quickly climbs up to the back of his head and goes further. Something stings Castiel between his ears, behind the eyes, in the nose, on the forehead, in the neck, everywhere. Before he apprehends what’s happening to him, his legs go limp and he falls to his knees. He grabs his head, almost blinded with pain. He grits his teeth so hard they seem to crack. He feels like he’s going to fall apart, his skull is exploding and thousands of needles pierce his brain.

          And then the pain eases as suddenly as it appeared. It is still there, whirls, pushes at his temples, but it’s bearable. Castiel breathes heavily, his fingers clenched in his thick hair. _What… has just happened?_ He can’t feel pain. Not this kind of pain. Not… human. He can’t, he’s not capable of. So why…?

            “Cas!? Cas, what’s wrong?!”

            As Castiel looks up, Dean is already by his side, cupping the angel’s face with his warm hands. There is fear in his eyes.

            “Cas, you okay?” he repeats softly, carefully looking at Castiel.

            “Yes,” lied the angel. “I’m fine.”

            “It ain’t lookin’ like ‘fine’.”

            “I must have used too much of my grace and now I’m weakened. There is nothing to worry about. _Really_.”

            Dean stays quiet for a few seconds, still worried, before he smiles a bit and almost jokingly says:

            “We couldda use some sleep, eh? C’mon.”

            Castiel doesn’t fight as Dean leads him to bed. He sinks into the soft mattress with a quiet sigh. He hasn’t noticed before how heavy his eyelids seemed. Dean slides under the covers right next to him and unsurely wraps his arm around Castiel as he pulls the angel closer.

            “G’night,” he mutters sleepily.

            Castiel wants to reply, but he doesn’t have the time. He falls asleep before he can even think about how terribly tired he is.

 


	2. HEADACHE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it took an entire forever and a half to write. But here it is. Hope you enjoy!

Green digits of a clock show nine in the morning when Castiel groans quietly and slowly opens his eyes.  The room is almost completely pitch-black; only a thin stripe of pale light manages to creep through the crack under the door and disperse the darkness. Despite that, an angelic eyesight easily cuts through it and lands on the man sleeping by.

            Dean lies on his side, with his arm draped over Castiel’s waist and head resting on the angel’s shoulder. Dean looks surprisingly… relaxed. Castiel is sure that he’s never seen Dean being so peaceful before. The angel watched over his sleep before, however even then Dean remained alert and unhealthily tensed; as if he expected being attacked even in his sleep. Now he’s breathing deeply and regularly, corners of his lips lightly curl up, small wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes are smoothed, rejuvenating him.

            The memory of last night’s pain looms in Castiel’s head. He pushes it away quickly – it was nothing to worry about. Sometimes when he uses too much of his grace, his vessel reacts with various physical stimuli. It’s never been so intense, or concentrated in one spot before, but he decides to ignore it. He’s still weakened after what the Winchesters call “another damn end of the world”. Additionally, he still hasn’t fully regenerated since their last big hunt. His vessel has the right to be tired. _He_ has the right to be tired.

            Ignoring a subtle pressure in his temples, Castiel  focuses on Dean. It’s the first time the angel has an occasion of simply enjoying his presence for longer than a few elusive moments they managed to tear from their lives, so filled with stress and tension. Influenced by a sudden impulse, Castiel moves the arm Dean rested on and carefully strokes Dean’s stiff hair. He doesn’t even know why he’s doing it.

            All of it; feelings and emotions are still new to him. He spent on Earth several years already, in the company of the Winchesters, slowly learning those feelings, discovering them, beginning to understand them. However the thing he feels for Dean is entirely different from what he’s experienced so far. This… sensation is stronger, more intense and vivid, sometimes even overwhelming. There are moments when Castiel is terrified, seeing how easily this thing cuts through his grace, which is supposed to work as a barrier preventing him from feeling. Well, in his case it never quite works. No matter how many times he went down to Earth in the past, there was always, _always_ at least a slight emotion getting to him. But it has _never_ been so strong before. _Ever._

            Dean is special.

            Castiel smiles lightly. It is good.

            He hears Dean’s heartbeat quicken and breathing go more shallow. He’s waking up. Dean moves in his half-asleep state, pressing his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck. He groans discontent, muttering something under his breath.

            “Hello Dean,” says Castiel, taking his hand away from Dean’s hair.

            Dean’s muscles immediately tense and his breath cuts off. It takes full ten seconds for him to relax again. He sits up on his elbow and lights up the lamp standing on the headboard.  His eyes sparkle with warmth as they look down at Castiel.

            “Hey,” Dean greets Castiel with hoarse voice. “Sleep well?”

            “Yes,” replies the angel calmly. “Sleep is a much more enjoyable way of restoring energy than waiting.”

            Dean chuckles quietly. He leans down and carefully kisses Castiel in the very corner of his mouth. Right after that, Dean moves to the other side of the bed, almost sheepishly, and stretches with a quiet grunt.

            “Time to get up,” he yawns. He throws the duvet to the side and stands up. “See you in kitchen?” he asks, running his hand through his messy morning hair.

            “Of course.”

            Dean walks across the room to grab his robe. Right before he leaves, he sends Castiel a small smile that warms up the angel’s entire body.

            When the clock strikes nine thirty, Castiel finally gets up. He picks up his abandoned clothes and changes back into them, making sure to put neatly folded Dean’s pajama under the pillows. He leaves the room, turning the lights off and closing the door behind him. He walks down the corridor and makes his way to the kitchen. He stops in the doorframe and looks inside shyly.

            The Winchesters are here. Sam is sat at the table with his laptop, eyes glued to the screen and an empty plate next to him. Dean leans against the kitchen counter with a steamy mug in his hand. His green eyes immediately turn away from a newspaper and look up at the angel.

            “Look what cat dragged,” he smirks before turning back to reading.

            Something clenches in Castiel’s chest involuntarily. Although he knows that the change in their relationship is still new and unsure, he can’t possibly understand why Dean doesn’t want Sam to know anything so badly. The differences in Dean’s behaviour, between when they’re alone and when they’re with other people, make Castiel feel uncomfortable to say the least. He doesn’t quite know what he is and is not allowed to do or say. The angel only hopes, that Sam hasn’t noticed how Castiel has been tensed for the past month.

           Sam glances at the angel briefly, too busy with studying whatever was displayed on the screen of his laptop.

            “Hey, Cas,” he says, pushing few buttons on the keyboard. “You stayed?”

            “Eh, yes,” admits Castiel, taking a few steps forward. “Dean… Dean said I didn’t have to go if I didn’t want to.”

            “Good. ‘s your home, in the end,” states Sam. “Weren’t you bored, though? Or you took a nap?”

            “I was in the library,” lies the angel smoothly, taking a seat at the table.

            “Someone got into readin’, huh?” smiles Dean teasingly, putting his newspaper away. “Want some coffee, buddy?”

            “Yes, please.”

            Dean pours another mug, black one, with a cartoon bee on it, and hands it over to the angel, along with a plastic sugar bowl and a spoon. He lightly squeezes Castiel’s shoulder and gives him a fond smile, before he backs off to the counter.

            As the angel reaches out to put sugar in his coffee, there’s something stinging behind his eyes again. The pain from the last night slowly returns, piercing his brain with cold needles, pressing at his head. Castiel breathes out, trying to take control over it, push the sensation away. But he can’t. Of course he can’t, he’s weakened That’s all. He should have slept a few extra hours and pay more attention to how much grace he’s using. He has to remember about it on the next hunt; he doesn’t want Dean to worry about him, in the end.

            “Think I found another case,” says Sam, pulling the angel out of his train of thoughts. “So, get this, a young woman-”

            “Oh, come on!” groans Dean with a dissatisfied face. “Another? We came back from the last one nine hours ago, Sammy! _Nine hours_. Chill down, would ya?”

            Sam raises his eyebrows questioningly. “Uh, what?”

            “‘m sayin’ we couldda have some rest, donttcha think?”

            “Dean, what are you even talking about?” Sam lets out a chuckle. “We can’t just let people die, ‘cause you want a day off!”

            “How you even sure it’s a _case,_ not just a freak accident like this stuff in Colorado a week ago?”

            “Listen, a young woman _died_ on the night of her wedding. Witnesses say it looked like she was ripped in half with a scythe. It sounds like our kinda “weird”, doesn’t it?”

            “Or…” sighs Dean “it was just crazy uncle Jeff or a jealous ex-boyfriend.”

            “Could be,” Sam looks back to the screen “but from what I found so far, it wasn’t the first death there. And definitely not the first angry-grimm-reaper one.”

            “I don’t know, man. We ain’t the only hunter outta there, y’know. We couldda just call someone else. Bet there’s some hunter nearby that place.”

            “It’s only fifty miles away! What even happened to you? Since when you take holidays? Weren’t you the one to tell me that we’re _always_ on watch?”

            “Who knows,” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “Maybe I’m gettin’ old.”

            “You’re forty,” points out Sam.

            “Yeah, and I’ve been doin’ all this hutnin’ thing for the past thrity-six. I’m _exhausted_ , Sammy. I just want _one_ day with no demons, vampires, spirits and other shit, alright?”

            “You wouldn’t say that if we didn’t have this bunker and were still on the road. We should at least check it out.” Sam turns to Castiel. “Right, Cas?”

            The angel raises his head from above his coffee slowly. He wasn’t paying attention to what the Winchesters were saying for the last few minutes, completely focused on finding the source of constantly intensifying pain. His vision is going slightly blurry, blood hums loudly in his ears. Despite his attempts, he doesn’t seem to be able to locate what is wrong. “ _Tired,”_ he thinks. “ _I’m just tired._ ”

            “Uhm…” he stutters, desperately trying to remember at least one detail of the conversation the brothers just had. It’s hard, his head hurts, knots are being tied on his guts. “I… I guess. I think so.”

            “See?” Sam turns to his brother with a triumphal smile. “We’re going.”

            “Uh, _fine_ ,” grunts Dean with irritation. He squinches his face, clearly needing to express his reluctance. He stops when his gaze wanders back to the angel. “Cas? You okay, buddy? Somethin’ wrong?”

            “No,” Castiel clears his throat and stands up. “Everything is alright, Dean. There’s just something I have to check before we leave. So if you excuse me…” he leaves in the middle of sentence. The Winchesters only exchange surprised looks.

            The very second Castiel leaves the kitchen, he has to brace himself against the wall in order not to fall down. It’s unbearable now, his head is being crushed, turning his brain into mush and thoughts into incoherent mess. His knees are weak when he tries to walk, hide in some room and wait for it to stop. He curses his wings for being broken and useless, unable to take him anywhere.

            He stumbles down the corridors, trying to move forward despite the ground being unstable under his feet. He finally reaches one of the hardly-ever used corridors and almost falls into the first room he passes. Castiel slams the doors behind him and slides down. He lets out a faint whimper as he tugs at his own hair, struggling on the dusty floor.

            It feels like an angel blade is being pushed at his temples and stabs the backs on his eyes, like his bodily fluids turn into liquid holy fire and his grace wants to break free so it doesn’t have to transfer all this pain to his nerves.

            With a choked cry Castiel shuts his watering eyes, curling into a fetal position, fingers still tangled in his hair. Only one thought swirls in his pained head: Dean can’t find out.


	3. TIREDNESS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turned out kind of filler-ish... but I promise it's for the plot!  
> Thanks to fantastic Dean_loves_Cas_and_his_trenchcoat for helping me out when I got stuck.  
> Enjoy!

Impala’s engine purrs like a cat when its wheels slide smoothly on the surface of the road. It's a pleasant summer day – the sky is almost clear, only a few feathery clouds gliding on it, the sun heats up the earth, filling the air with a scent of hay, green leaves move gently in the wind. Perfect time to investigate murder of a young woman.

            Castiel sits quietly on the backseat, watching the colorful fields they are passing by. It’s surprisingly beautiful, he thinks, and for some reason such a provincial view mixed with a low hum of the car makes him peaceful. It just feels so familiar, it’s something he’s got used to the past years he’s spent with the Winchesters. He rests his head against the window, letting the sun rays hit his face. He enjoys it, even though the buffer of his grace dims the sensation almost completely.

            However, there’s something off about the atmosphere in the car, something Castiel very much wishes wasn’t there. Frankly, he’s not surprised by the presence of the tension between the brothers – they have managed to fight over the case two times before they even packed the bags. Sam loudly announcing that he is _not_ listening to “The Eye Of The Tiger” for the seventh time in the row apparently didn’t help the situation, given Dean shouted at him and turned the radio off, growling curses under his breath.

            After that, neither of them spoke a word for good twenty minutes. Dean just keeps humming the song quietly, while Sam tries to ignore him, focusing on the printed articles on his lap instead.

            “Get this,” says finally Sam, grabbing one of the sheets. “According to one of the witnesses, the vic left the wedding lightly before midnight to get something from the kitchen of a nearby house.”

            “So?” spits out Dean indifferently, keeping his eyes on the road. “What’s so special ‘bout it?”

            “Well, another witness claims he saw her _dancing_ with a group of people as he was getting the party. Nothing weird at a wedding, right? _But_ , when he walked back to that party, everyone was present and there’s no other house in five miles radius.”

            “Then who was the vic dancin’ with?”

            “Exactly. Told you there's something weird about this death.”

            “Hmm,” murmurs Dean thoughtfully, drumming his fingers on the wheel to the rhythm of the same song as before. “Dunno, man, but it sounds like us. Whaddaya think? Demons again?”

            “No idea.” Sam gathers all the papers and turns in his seat to put them on the back seat, on top of his laptop. “You okay, Cas? You’re quiet.”

            Hearing that, Castiel straightens his back and looks away from the window. He takes a breath to answer, but Dean speaks up first:

            “He’s always quiet, Sammy. Haven’t noticed yet?”

            Sam only rolls his eyes in annoyance. “I’m ninety-five percent sure I didn’t ask _you_.”

            “I’m fine,” says the angel quickly, preventing a further argue between the brothers. “I simply don’t have anything to add.”

            “See? I told ya,” grunts Dean as he turns the car and drives to a rather cheap-looking motel. “He’s alright.”

            “But you tell me if something’s wrong, okay?” Sam chooses to ignore him, focusing on his friend instead. “That’s what family’s for.”

            “I-I will. Thank you.” Castiel gazes at the younger Winchester with gratitude before turning his head back toward the window. He catches in the corner of his eye how Dean’s muscles tense and hands clench on the steering wheel. The angel presses his lips into a thin line. It appears that no matter what he does, there’s always something about his behaviour that irritates Dean. And that, of course, is the last thing Castiel wants. Especially now, when their relationship has changed so much. Perhaps they should talk about it, but then again, talking isn’t exactly what Dean does willingly.

            The engine goes silent as they stop in the parking lot.

            “Alright, Imma check us in,” declares Dean, getting out of the car and glaring at his companions. “You stay here. Both of you,” he adds, before walking away to the reception.

            Castiel stands next to Sam, sat on the hood of the Impala, and peeks discreetly after Dean. By the way he walks and shoves the door open, it’s clear to see that he’s annoyed.

            “What’s up with the two of you?” asks Sam as he rolls the sleeves of his shirt up.

            The angel squinches his eyes as confusion flashes across his face. “What do you mean by that?”

            “I just wanna know what’s the matter with you and Dean. I mean, he seems… angry, for some reason. Something happened? You had a fight?”

            “A fight? No, we didn’t fight. Everything is in the right order. As I said before, Dean was kind enough to let me stay in the bunker for the night. However… in all honesty, I must admit, he always seems a little angry.”

            “Yeah, I guess it’s a part of his personality.” Sam lets out a small chuckle. “But tell me if something’s wrong, alright? I don’t wanna see you go again just because Dean’s being an asshole to you.”

            “Sam, nothing has happened, really...” Castiel sighs. “But I will, in any case. Thank you for your concern, but there’s nothing to worry about.”

            “Okay, if you say so… ‘bout that staying at the bunker thing…”

            “Yes?”

            “Listen, man,” begins Sam awkwardly, scratching his neck. “I don’t wanna make you feel obliged, or somethin’, but, still, if you wanna, we can just prep a room for you, y’know.”

            Castiel tilts his head to the side like a curious dog and furrows. “What?”

            “A room, Cas. In the bunker. So you have a place to stay.”

            “Oh,” says the angel flatly. He didn’t expect such an offer. Frankly, even if the Winchesters claimed to treat him like a part of the family, Castiel himself has never truly left like he belonged, like it’s not his place. The perspective of having his own room in the bunker sounds oddly comforting to him, inflating a small balloon of warm joy in his chest. “Would you want me to stay?”

            “Sure I would.” Sam gives him a smile. “You’re my brother, Cas. I’d be good to have you around with us, not running Hell knows where. Besides…” he continues after a little pause. “It’s not my idea. It’s Dean’s. Guess he didn’t talk to you about it, huh?”

            “No, he didn’t,” admits Castiel. “But if you both want me to, then I will.”

            “That’s great, man.” Sam pats the angel’s shoulder affectionately. “Glad you gonna stay.”

            “Am I interruptin’ somethin’ here?”

            Sam and Castiel glance above their shoulders at Dean, who suddenly appeared on the other end of the Impala with both his eyebrows raised.

            “Got us a room,” he growls shortly, before opening the hood and taking out one of their bags.

            “Cool.” Sam jumps on the ground and walks over to his brother. “Wait. _One_ room?”

            “Yeah, why?”

            “Last time I checked there’s three of us.”

            “Last time _I_ checked angels don’t sleep.” Dean shuts the trunk and gives Castiel an almost apologetic look. “Cas doesn’t need a bed, right?”

            “That is correct, I do not require sleep.” Castiel shoves his hands into the pocket of his trenchcoat. He’s speaking the truth – angels don’t have to sleep. It’s a human need, in the end. If any of the angels engages in it, it’s for nothing else but the pure pleasure of it. Or if it's really weakened and tired. Like Castiel in that moment. There's still something; something lurking at the edge of his consciousness. A faint shadow of the previous sudden outburst that set all of his synapses on fire, leaving stings of burning. Even if it’s gone for now, it still made him even more tired that he was before. Perhaps he should have lied, tell the brothers there were some matters demanding his attention so he wouldn’t have to come along.

            But now it’s too late. He’s with them, in the parking lot of a motel, having in perspective a few days of hiding his little problem.

            “See?” Dean grabs his bags and begins to walk toward their room. “Chill down, man.”

            “Wow.” Sam shakes his head. “Right, _always a little angry_.” He sighs. “You sure you don’t want a room for yourself?”

            “I’m sure.” Castiel follows the younger Winchester. “I will…”

            “Watch over us,” chuckles Sam. “Yeah, I know.”

            When they walk through the door, Dean has already unpacked most of their stuff; guns and knives lay displayed across the table along with hip-flasks filled with holy water and a variety of bullets: regular, silver, filled with salt and those with carved demon traps. Since none of them knows what they will face, they must be prepared for everything. And, apparently, they are.

            “Got everything?” Sam puts his bag down on one of the chairs and cracks his knuckles, inspecting the weapons laid in front of him.

            “Almost,” replies his brother with a serious tone.

            “What we missing?”

            “Beer.”

            “Really, Dean?” There’s disbelief on Sam’s face. “We just got here and you…”

            “Already need a drink, yeah,” finishes Dean with a confident smirk as he crosses his arms on his chest. “And since _you_ wanted a case so badly, _you_ are gonna beer me up. Then we go talk to the witnesses.”

            “Are you even… oh, you _are_ serious, aren’t you?”

            “Yup.”

            Sam presses his lips into a thin line and takes a deep breath. He seems to have difficulties with keeping certain words from spilling out. “Fine,” he spits. “I’m gonna go to the store now. And when I’m back we could, I dunno, do our job maybe, huh?”

            “Sounds perfect, Sammy.”

            “Jerk.”

            “Bitch.”

            Castiel stay quiet throughout this whole conversation, looking curiously around the room. In his understanding, it’s pretty much the same as any other motel he’s been to – a kitchenette, a door, most probably leading to a small bathroom, and two beds. The angel wants nothing more than to lie on one of them and fall asleep, regain more of his energy and forget about the headache. Unfortunately, it is not to be given to him. He has to get through a few days of pretending to be fine first.

            Hearing the front door close, he turns his head to Dean.

            “What’s wrong, buddy?” asks Dean with a hint of concern in his voice. “Sammy’s right, y’know, you look kinda down. Somethin’s botherin’ you?”

            The angel hesitates for a moment. He bites down on his lip, one of the habits he picked up from the Winchesters, and considers his choices. Surely he can't just inform Dean about the headaches he's been getting for the past twenty-four hours. Although it's alarming, Castiel still tries to convince _himself_ that it's nothing to worry about. He can't say he's fine either – both Sam and Dean have already noticed that something is off. But there's also a third option, the one Castiel likes the least. He knows he shouldn't but he's unable to stop himself. Guilt washes over him while he speaks those words:

            “Why do you act this way, Dean?”

            Dean furrows. “Whattcha mean?”

            “Why…” Castiel takes a deep breath and continues. “Why do you treat me so differently when we’re alone and when we’re with Sam? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry if I did, I…”

            “What? No!” Dean cuts him off. “You did nothing wrong, Cas! Okay? Don’t even think that! I just…” He sighs and rubs his face. He looks tired, all of the sudden. “I just don’t want him to know. Not for now.”

            “Why?”

            There’s an expression on Dean’s face, one Castiel can’t quite decipher. If he had to guess, he’d put it somewhere between uncertainty and reluctance, mixed with an emotion uncomfortably close to fear. The angel already regrets he asked.

            “It’s complicated, man,” says Dean finally as he rubs the back of his neck in a nervous manner. “I just… hell, I just don’t wanna fuck this one up. _And_ I have a talent for fucking things up if you haven’t noticed. You don’t… _I_ don’t…” he sighs and shakes his head. “I didn’t want to make you feel bad, buddy. I just need some time.”

            “I’m sorry, Dean,” mutters Castiel timidly. “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable or uneasy. You appear rather irritated every time I speak when we’re with Sam.”

            “I’m _not_ irritated. It’s just…” Dean huffs with frustration. “ _Sorry,_ Cas.” He squeezes the angel’s shoulder. “I promise it won’t happen again. Just gimme… gimme some time to adjust, alright? ‘s not like I changed my mind, buddy. You _know_ you’re important.”

            “Yes. I do. And I will.”

            Dean smiles a crooked smile, relieved. However, he seems to be tensed, like there’s still something he wants to add; some unspoken words at the back of his throat he simply can’t let out. Instead, he makes a move, it’s more of a flex of muscles, the same as every time he does when he’s about to hug Cas, but stops immediately hearing footsteps in front of their door. He takes his hand away from the angel’s shoulders the very second the door falls open.

            “Got it,” exclaims Sam walking inside the room, holding a six-pack of beer in his raised hand. He throws it on the table before turning to Dean and Castiel, standing uncomfortably close to each other. He doesn’t say anything about it, but the angel can see how Sam’s eyebrows arch a little bit.

            “Great.” Dean rubs his hands as he grabs one of the bottles. “Now you can talk to me.”

            “About?”

            “The case.”

            At this point, Castiel doesn’t listen to the conversation once again. He glances over at a used armchair standing in the corner of the room. He walks towards it and sits down, resting his cheek on his fist. He closes his eyes for a few moments, letting the Winchesters’ voices turn into a white hum. He just feels so, _so_ tired.


	4. CONFUSION

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going a bit deeper into the character's feelings, but... the action is coming soon. Better look out. Enjoy!

It takes the Winchesters exactly thirty minutes to go over all the facts and details Sam has managed to gather before they left the bunker. Dean is still angry at his brother and doesn’t hesitate to show it off, although he tries to listen closely so they can be done as fast as possible. Despite his best attempts, Dean can’t quite focus on what Sam is saying, his eyes constantly flickering to Cas. The angel seems to be napping in the armchair standing in the very far corner of the shabby motel room. It’s surprising, to say the least. But more than anything else, it’s unsettling.

            Dean knows damn well that angels don’t _need_ to sleep; at least not the same way humans do. The fact that Cas fell asleep last night alone should have been alarming to Dean, or at least make him more watchful. In the end, he’s aware that there are only two reasons for an angel to sleep – either will, or utter exhaustion. And given that even Sam has pointed out that Cas doesn’t look so good only adds to Dean’s worry.

            However, as per usual, he acts like he doesn’t care, looking at his brother with an exaggerated boredom painted across his features.

            Another thirty minutes pass before Sam makes the list of people they need to question, Dean finishes his beer and both of them change into suits. As Dean leaves the bathroom with a small pile of clothes tucked under his arm, his gaze wanders to Cas. In that moment, Dean’s one hundred percent sure that the angel was asleep for the past hour. He looks around with his big blue eyes, as if he didn’t know where exactly he is or what he’s doing.

            “You comin’ along, Cas?” asks Dean, throwing his jeans and flannel onto one of the beds and checking if his holster is properly attached.

            “Of course,” replies the angel as he gets up to his feet, rubbing his eyes at the same time. He looks… tired.

            “Alright, let’s go, then,” says Sam from across the room.

            As they walk to the car, Dean’s attention is completely focused on Cas, on the way he walks, gets into the Impala and stares out of the window. Thankfully, nothing seems out of the ordinary. At least for now.

            “Okay, so get this,” speaks up Sam when the engine starts.

            “Christ, could you stop?” groans Dean with pure agony in his voice, rolling his eyes at the same time.

            “Stop what?”

            “Saying “get this” every single time you wanna bring something up.”

            There’s disbelief on Sam’s face. “I don’t do that!” he exclaims, almost resentfully. “Do I?” he adds after a few seconds, seeing that Dean’s expression hasn’t changed. “Come on, I don’t!” He turns in his seat to glance at Cas, seeking his support.

            “Uh…” stutters the angel hesitantly. “You… you _do_ tend to do that. A lot.”

            Sam shakes his head with his eyebrows raised. “Wow,” he huffs. “Anyway, get-...” he clears his throat, ignoring Dean’s amused chuckle. “I checked some newest reports when you were changing. The police is already off the property, so we have clean field to sniff around. _But_ they’re still keeping an eye on the family and as far as I know, most of them have gathered in the house near the crime scene.”

            “Well, that’s awfully convenient,” points out Dean, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. However, he’s still looking up into the driving mirror from time to time, checking on Cas. He’s sitting stiffly, as usual, clearly admiring the rural view outside. Dean can’t help a smile from appearing on his lips. Those little things are what makes Cas so… himself; different from the other angels. Special.

            “Yeah. Still, it’s gonna take some time; there’s a lot of people there, even if we don’t count the kids. We gonna need at least a few hours if we wanna question everyone and there’s still the place to search.”

            “So we just split, we don’t gotta walk everywhere together. I take some people, you take some and we gonna be done in a heartbeat,” suggests Dean as he reaches to the radio.

            “Play “Eye Of The Tiger” once more and I’m leaving,” hisses Sam at his brother with exasperation. “But yeah, in three we should be done pretty quick.”

            “Three?” the older Winchester snorts. “You serious? You want _Cas_ to talk to people? _Really?”_ He arches an eyebrow. He knows it’s a dick move and at the very least he should stop himself from such comments, but he can’t help it. The thought of Sam finding out about what he has with Cas now, finding out about… about _them_ is plain of terrifying, so he tries his best to cover it up. Maybe even a bit too much.

            Dean doesn’t even entirely know _what_ he’s so scared of. Whether it’s the perspective of Sam disapproving or dealing with his own feelings, it’s just something he simply isn’t ready for yet. Perhaps he should have thought everything through first, before doing anything, making a move… shit, he never planned on drunk kissing Cas. Now it’s too late. Dean _knows_ he’s not going to step back – Cas means too much to him. But at the same time, he has this sickening feeling, sitting deep down in his guts like a predator waiting for its prey, that something terrible will happen the very second he admits how he cares about that dorky angel in a trenchcoat.

            As for now, Dean has nothing left to do but to keep acting in front of Sam and pray this attitude won’t scare Cas away.

            “I…” begins Sam, but changes his mind mid-sentence. “You okay with that Cas?” he asks instead. “You can handle search yourself?”

            “I suppose I won’t have any issues with it,” answers Cas from the backseat, a shade of confidence in his voice. “I should easily cope with the task if only you tell me what exactly I shall look for.”

            “Shouldn't _you_ know better than _us_?” Dean glances at the angel in the driving mirror. “Stuff outta the ordinary, y’know.”

            “I _don't know_ what we may encounter either,” mutters the angel with a hint of irritation in his voice. “But as I understand, you have no suspicions. Very well, then. I'll look for “stuff out of the ordinary”.”

            There’s a sudden tightness in Dean’s chest as he hears the change in Cas’ tone. Shit. He’s taking it too far. After all, hurting Cas is the last damn thing he wants. They have just talked about this, yet Dean fears that at some point the angel won’t be able to take it anymore and just leave. And it would be nothing to blame him for.

            Before Dean has a chance to make up a poor apology, they already arrive at the place.

            It’s a rather big house with a barn standing nearby, placed two miles outside the town the Winchesters and Castiel are staying at. There are a few cars parked along the road, chains of a swing jiggle quietly on the summer wind and a shabby dog sleeps peacefully on the porch. It would look like any other August afternoon if it wasn’t for one detail – there is nobody to be seen. During such a beautiful day children should be running around with the dog and playing on the swings while their parents keep an eye on them from the porch. But instead of that, Dean assumes, they’re sitting quietly inside the house, mourning.

            “Alright, let’s recap,” says Dean as he parks the Impala at the very end of the line made out of the other cars. He turns in the seat to face Cas. “Sammy and I are takin’ the witnesses. You sniff around the place in the field. Dunno how long it’s gonna take, though. You got your phone?”

            “Yes,” confirms the angel. “I also have the badge. Dean, I know what I’m doing. You don’t have to worry about me.”

            “I just don’t want you to get us into trouble, okay?” Dean gets out of the car and gives Cas a rather concerned look. “Good luck, buddy.”

            He keeps looking after Cas for several seconds as the angel walks away, in the direction opposite to the house. He seems ridiculously out of place on a sunny path, with his trench coat still on.

            “Okay, so what’s your problem this time?” Sam’s voice brings Dean back to reality.

            “What?” he looks at his brother questioningly.

            “I’m asking what’s your problem?” Sam crosses his arms on his chest. He looks outraged. “The hell you doing again?”

            “Whaddaya mean?”

            “I’m asking about you and Cas. First you’re indifferent, then you’re being a dick and now you act concerned. Not that you being a dick is something new. I don’t wanna have Cas leave again just because you’re an asshole.”

            “Oi, easy there!” Dean raises both his hands in a defensive gesture. “Since when you care so much whether Cas stays with us or not?”

            “Since we _lost him again_ ,” hisses Sam, his jaw clenching. “We don’t have _anyone_ left, and the chances are, next time we lose Cas, we’re not getting him back. He’s _family,_ he’s our _brother,_ Dean. So unless he really _did_ something to deserve you treating him like this, cut it off. Or one day he’s just gonna leave.”

            All of Dean’s muscles tense, hearing Sam talk like this to him. He feels rage heating his blood up, as well as a sudden need to punch something. Or someone. But despite that, he can’t deny anything Sam’s saying. Dean _is_ being a dick to Cas and Cas _can_ just decide he’s tired of dealing with it. And that only makes panic creep up Dean’s spine. He doesn’t want to, he _can’t_ have Cas gone. Especially not now, not when they’re finally starting to build something, even if this thing seems so fragile and dangerous.

            “Fine,” breathes out Dean after a few seconds of inner battle. “You’re right, man. I gotta... Imma apologise to him, alright?”

            “Oh, spare your breath,” huffs Sam, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his suit pants. “Just stop. Seriously, Cas’s the only family we have left.”

            Dean slowly chews the words appearing on his tongue and just nods. He’s not going to deal with all of those thoughts now, when he has to be fully focused on the task in front of him. And so, he just waves in the direction of the house and begins to walk towards it, not looking back to check if Sam follows.

*

            As Castiel walks away from the Winchesters, he feels another headache slowly growing inside his head. It’s been exactly three and a half hours since the previous one and nothing points at it stopping as the time progresses. It’s the exact opposite – every time the pressure at his temples and behind his eyes returns, it seems to be worse and worse. Luckily, now the angel is prepared, waiting for it, only so he can shift his grace and dull the pain before it becomes too much to bare.

            What he realises only as he turns his steps away from the dirt road, further into the open field, is that with each use of his grace, he feels even more weakened. Of course, that really isn’t anything strange. Grace isn’t infinite, in the end. If an angel uses it too much or too often, every next use becomes more and more draining and the time needed for regeneration lengthens. That only makes the whole situation stranger – Castiel _did_ rest, even more than he would usually need to, if counting the short nap he accidentally took in the motel’s armchair.

            Despite the dizziness and unpleasant burning in his stomach, Castiel keeps going, too lost in his own thoughts to even notice how drastically his well-being has dropped during that short walk.

            He’s thinking. More specifically, he’s thinking about the Winchesters. There are two extremely contradictory feelings fuzzing in his chest.

            From one hand, there's this warm and pleasant and comforting thing. Hot joy burning inside him, filling him with glow brighter than his grace. Perhaps Sam didn't know what his proposition meant to Castiel, but it doesn't make the angel any less grateful, because the Winchester offered him something he thought he has lost forever. A home.

            Even though Castiel has spent with the Winchesters over a decade, he never truly thought that he belonged. Perhaps he didn’t feel insignificant, but simply _not needed_ . Redundant. It never seemed that he’s _wanted_ in the bunker, or at the least not very _welcomed_ for longer than a few hours. Sometimes he even got an impression, which now he’s deeply ashamed of, that the brothers treat him like a tool, coming in handy every now and then.

            There were, of course, moments when Castiel’s fears of being unwanted were blown away by the Winchester’s appreciation. And then there are Dean’s feelings that still seem so unreal. But even despite that, the angel still had thoughts that maybe it’s not his place… until now.

            Besides the overwhelming delight of finally having a confirmation of belonging, there’s also the constant worry heaving on Castiel’s shoulders. And not only caused by Dean’s rather unpleasant behaviour. No, the angel has gotten used to that a long time ago and is perfectly fine with it. And, after all, Dean _did_ reassure Castiel about their relationship…

            No, the thing that truly bothers the angel is that he may make a mistake again. That’s what he always does – mistakes. Mistakes that enrage Dean and upset Sam; mistakes that perhaps are the reason why the brothers always seemed so reluctant.

            Castiel doesn’t want to cause any more troubles. Especially not now, not when he’s finally been offered a home. He doesn’t want Sam and Dean to get angry or worried. Whatever happens, the angel can’t… he just can't.

            With burning spreading further to his lungs and the ground spinning below his feet, Castiel keeps walking. He’s been given a task. He _is not_ disappointing them, not again.


	5. FATIGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello,  
> as I am completely and utterly DEVASTATED after S12 finale, I had some kind of a writing fever and pretty much typed most of this chapter in one day. I guess I just had to destress somehow and what a better way than to write a fanfic? I hope you're holding on after S12 horror and you'll enjoy!

When the Winchesters knock at the house’s door, they’re almost immediately answered by a short plump woman, looking up at them with her big brown eyes. Wrinkles around them suggest that she used to smile a lot, but right now, there’s nothing cheerful about them. They’re just deepened under her frown, aging her a few extra years.

            “May I help you?” she asks sheepishly, her gaze flickering nervously between Sam’s and Dean’s faces.

            “Actually, yes,” confirms Dean as he and his brother reach to the inner pockets of their suit jackets and take out the badges. “I’m agent Smith, this is agent Smith. No connection. We’re here to investigate…”

            “Maky’s death?” The woman looks down at her hands. “I’m Madison Kovalsky. I’m… was her mother.”

            “My condolences, Mrs. Kovalsky,” says Sam compassionately. “I understand it’s a great tragedy. That’s what we’re here for – to find the one responsible for it. Now, if you allow us, we’d like to ask you and your family a couple of questions…”

            “We’ve already talked to the police,” informs him the woman, defensively. “Multiple times. Can’t we just be left alone? Max has had enough. We all have had enough.”

            “Of course, we understand that.” Dean cuts in, trying to make his tone as calm and understanding as it’s possible for him. “But we aren’t police. We _have to_ question all of you. The quicker we do it, the quicker we’ll be able to help.”

            Mrs. Kovalsky hesitates for a few seconds, still standing in the center of the doorframe with her arms crosses on her chest, as if she was the guardian of the house trying to protect everyone from harm. However, judging by the bitter sorrow painted so noticeably across her rosy face, she knows she has failed and now, this once surely loud and full of life house, stays quiet, mourning. And, _God,_ does Dean know how she feels.

            “Alright, come in,” mutters the woman, at last, stepping aside to let the Winchesters in. “Not the whole family is here, though. Only a few of us. Most of the cousins and further family left to motels in the town.”

            “In this case, we really won’t take much of your time, Mrs. Kovalsky,” tells her Sam and gives her a little, reassuring smile. She just nods and closes the door behind them, making sure they’re properly locked before she crosses the corridor.

            “There’s the living room.” Mrs. Kovalsky points at a set of doors. “My sister and husband are already there, you can ask them. I’ll get the others.” After saying that, she turns around and disappears in another corridor. Sam looks at his brother with slightly raised eyebrows.

            “Be nice,” he reminds Dean with a bit of irony in his voice.

            Dean just growls and rolls his eyes, turning around to inspect the corridor more closely, completely ignoring Sam who already proceeds to get into the living room to question the family of the victim. As Dean is about to join his brother, something catches his eye. Or rather – someone.

            There’s a little girl, seven years at most, sitting at the top of the stairs. She’s peeking at him through the bars with curious blue eyes.

            “Hi, there,” greets her Dean, his voice soft. “I’m, uh…” he shows off his fake badge, not entirely sure why he does that with a child. “I’m agent Smith from FBI. What’s your name?”

            “Al,” replies the girl quietly, little hands grabbing the hem of her black T-shirt. “I’m Aléya.”

            “That’s a pretty name.”

            “Are you here to ask questions?”

            “Yeah. That’s exactly why I’m here.”

            “There were policemen,” says Aléya, seriousness looking almost absurdly on her tiny face. “They were asking questions, too. About auntie Maky. Are you a policeman?”

            “No.” Dean takes a step forward, his head raised up to glance at the girl. “I’m FBI. It’s… well, it _is_ like police, but we actually do stuff.”

            “Oh.” The girl’s mouth forms a perfect  _o_. “Will you ask me questions?” Suddenly, she frowns. “Nevermind. You won’t believe me anyway.”

            “Believe you with what? Who didn’t believe you?”

            “Policemen! And mommy! Nobody wants to believe me! I saw what happened to auntie Maky!”

            Dean isn’t even surprised – kids usually see or know the most, but adults don’t take their words seriously. He walks over to the bottom of the stairs and squats there.

            “I promise, I will believe you.” He gives Aléya a reassuring smile. “Now, kiddo, tell me what you saw.

*

“What the hell? You can’t just drag me out in the middle of questioning!”

            Sam follows his brother out of the Kovalsky’s house and down the road to the Impala.

            “I can and I did.” Dean doesn’t stop for a second, instead increasing his speed and looking for his phone in his pockets. He digs it out and searches for Cas’ number. “Told you I got a clue.”

            “Yeah, I got that. But _how?_ From _whom?_ ” Sam wants to know.

            “Little girl.” Dean’s eyes are fixed on the phone screen. “Aléya. The vic’s niece. She saw her aunt gettin’ killed, so I’m guessin’ we don’t need more witnesses.”

            “Little girl? Are you seriously taking a child’s word for granted? She could have just imagined something! And even if not, we still should see if others…”

            “Too late.” With that being said, Dean presses the phone to his ear and walks away a few meters, listening to the dull buzzing. He can’t tell whether it’s the sound of dialing or the worry swirling in his head. For some reason after talking to that little girl sitting on the stairs, he got _very_ concerned about Cas. Perhaps it was they way Aléya described her aunt’s murder, perhaps it was what she said at last. Those words, sounding so strange and out of place in the mouth of a seven-year-old girl. “ _I heard momma talking to papa today. She said that grandma is acting strong, but she really isn’t. And I know momma's right. Do you know why? ‘Cause grandma cries when nobody sees. She is like this. She’s nice to everyone, but cries when she’s alone._ ”

            After what feels like forever, Cas picks up.

            “Dean,” he says immediately, his voice muffled.

            “Cas, where you at?” Dean sweeps the golden fields with his eyes as he continues to walk, leaving Sam and the Impala behind. “We got a lead. You found anything?”

            “Uh, not quite. I’m not sure, it depends. What did you find out?”

            “Talked to the vic’s niece,” begins to explain Dean, stopping in the middle of the countryside road. “The girl’s supposed to sleep by eleven, but she stayed up watchin’ some kinda light show they’re goin’ on the wedding. She said she saw the vic walk back toward the house, god knows why, around midnight. According to the girl, before the vic got to the house, some chic in a long dress appeared. Now, listen to this, kiddo said that they started _dancing_. Next thing she knew, her aunt was dead.”

            There’s a long pause on the line, nothing but tension filled with some crackles.

            “I understand,” Castiel speaks up.

            “So? You know what that is?”

            “Not entirely. I would have to look at the body to be sure.”

            “Alright, buddy,” mutters Dean with a sigh, wiping his face with a rough hand. “Just be quick, okay? We’re waitin’ by the Impala.”

            After hanging up, Dean turns around on his heels and walks back to the car. He briefly informs Sam what Cas has told him, and takes a seat behind the steering wheel. In a way, the call relieved Dean, at least a little bit. Cas sounded normal, nothing out of the ordinary. But then again, he always seems okay, at least as much as the angel can be. That is, until he randomly falls asleep, what would be unsettling even if Cas wasn’t a damn angel. Whatever is happening, Dean _has to_ talk to Cas one-on-one. Quick.

*

When Cas finally gets back to the Winchesters and short explanations and information are exchanged, they set up the next part of the plan. They decide on splitting up again, however, this time Sam is the one to be left alone. Cas and Dean drop him off at a local, surprisingly big, library in the center of the town. The angel informs Sam exactly what he should look for – strange deaths of young women about to get married or right after the wedding, found in the area in the past hundred years. If there’s nothing in the library, Sam is supposed to go back to the motel and do research on the Internet. Meanwhile, Cas and Dean go to the morgue to look at the body.

            Since the town is pretty small, the drive from the library to the morgue can’t take more than ten minutes. Way too short to have a serious conversation, but Dean knows it’s probably all he’s going to get in the few following days if the hunt prolongs. Best case scenario, they would get a moment to talk maybe the day after tomorrow, provided that everything goes smoothly. But that’s not likely and the last thing Dean wants to do is to linger with conversation once again. It was too late so many times already, he can’t let another “too late” happen. Not again, especially not after what’s happened mere four months ago.

            Now they’re sat in the Impala in a silence that’s anything _but_ comfortable. Cas seems stiff and tensed, his eyes fixated on the road in front of them. He hasn’t spoken a word since they’ve left Sam at the library, didn’t even flex a muscle.

            “You okay there, buddy?” Dean speaks up, looking at Cas with the corner of the eye. The angel takes a few seconds to answer, still looking off into the distance.

            “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

            Dean sighs. “I dunno, you tell me. I’m kinda worried about’cha.”

            “Worried?” There is a surprise in Cas’ voice. “I don’t understand why would you. I’m fine.”

            “I saw you napping in the motel, Cas,” informs Dean, turning his head slightly to shortly glance over at the angel. “And, y’know, sleeping or napping ain’t exactly what angels do.”

            Cas makes a move, as if he wanted to touch Dean’s shoulder, but stops, the angel’s hand barely twitching on his knee.

            “Dean,” breaths out Cas nervously. “I-”

            “I’m not mad, alright?” Dean makes a dismissive gesture, trying to get the angel to relax. “I’m not. Really. I’m just…” He sighs. “I’m just worried, man. I don’t want’cha to get hurt again or, or just get in danger. I don’t wanna lose you again.”

            Cas’ jaw clenches, tensions still not leaving his body.

            “I understand,” he states at last. “I’m sorry to make you worried. But I’m fine, really…”

            “Cas.”

            “I’m just tired.” The angel leans back against the seat. “I… I still haven’t fully recovered since _then_ and I constantly use my grace.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “It simply drains me and I can’t recover so quickly anymore. Even angels get sleepy if they’re in such a shape as I am. I’m sorry.”

            “Oh, come on, buddy, you don’t gotta apologize for being tired.” Hesitantly, Dean reaches over to grab Cas’ hand. “But you couldda just stayed home and relax a bit.”

            “I would not exactly be able to _relax_ knowing that you’re out there in a possible danger.” The angel gently squeezes Dean’s fingers, a faint smile appearing on his light pink lips. “I want to be as much help as I can. And as I said, I’m fine.”

            “Okay, okay,” chuckles Dean, relieved. His worry still isn’t entirely gone, but Cas’ explanation makes sense. Besides, the angel wouldn’t lie if something _really_ was out of the order, would he? Not now when he and Dean are… well, they are. “But you tell me if something’s up. Something, I mean _anything at all_. Promise?”

            “I promise.”

            Shortly after that, they arrive at the sheriff’s office building where the morgue is placed. Before they walk in, Dean straightens Cas’ tie carefully, taking his sweet time to savour the very few moments they’ve got alone.

            At last, they get inside, fake badges already in hands and this time, thankfully, Cas doesn’t show it off upside down. They conversate with the sheriff for a couple of minutes, gathering more information as they’re lead down into the morgue. There, the sheriff gives them the last instructions and gestures at the tall, incredibly skinny man working there. The man looks up from his newspaper with a bored expression and points at the room attached to the one they’re currently in.

            “B11,” he says briefly before turning back to the pages.

            Dean makes a face and successfully gains a quiet snort from Cas. They pass the metal tables and get to the morgue refrigerators. Dean quickly finds the one with label B11 on it and opens it out, sliding the table with the body on it out. He raises the white cloth to uncover the body and scrunches his eyebrows, a displeased sound leaving his mouth.

            Sam was very much right when he said that the vic was “ripped in a half with a scythe”. A young woman’s body lies frozen in front of him, upper part completely separated from the pelvis and legs, white spine all sorts of “too visible”, sticking out from the torn flesh.

            “That’s just nasty,” Dean notices. “So that’s it. Whaddaya think, Cas?”

            Hearing his name, the angel moves from the entrance he’s been standing at up to this point, for some strange reason, and almost falls straight onto the body, capturing the edge of one of the metal tables just in time to support his weight.

            “Sorry,” he mumbles, dragging himself back to his feet. “I tripped.”

            “Careful, I don’t wanna have to clean you off the guts.” Dean cracks a joke, trying to get Cas to smile again. Sadly, this time it doesn’t work.

            The angel comes closer to the body still grabbing the solid metal, and looks carefully at the body. He squinches his eyes, his free hand reaching out to run fingertips across the tip of the spine.

            “I’m not touching you until you shower two times,” groans Dean, taking a step back.

            Cas apparently chooses to ignore him, instead taking some of the weird brown goo in between his fingers. He inspects it closely before wiping his hand on the white cloth.

            “I know what it is now,” he says.

            “And?”

            “It is a night wright.”

            Dean’s eyebrows elevate. “A what?”

            “A night wright. It’s, uh…” Cas covers the body. “Well, it comes from Slavic mythology. The Slavs classified it as a demon, but in reality, it’s more of a phantom, a more corporeal ghost. A ghost of a bride, to be exact. It also has a twin form, a noon wright, one that appears during the day instead of the night. It was commonly believed that they were born out of sweat and tears of people working in the fields. But, as most of the mythologies, it’s not quite right. Night wrights and noon wrights are actually brought to existence by deaths of young women – those about to get married and those who died right after the wedding.”

            “Well, that’s fucked up. But why did it only kill this chic?” Dean points at the refrigerator.

            “Jealousy. This kind of ghosts tends to kill only its kind, which in this case is a young bride. I wasn’t exactly sure if it really is a night wright, but now I am. I got suspicious after you told me that the bride was seen dancing with someone. Wrights hex their victims into a wedding dance before murdering them, which leaves a burn out patch in the ground. Such as the one I found. Additionally,” Cas raises the hand he touched the body with, “this substance was the last proof I needed. It’s…”

            “Alright, let’s not talk about some brown goo on the corpse,” stops him Dean. This isn’t the kind of details he needs. “How do we deal with it?”

            “It’s a ghost, as I said. Salting and burning the body should be enough.”

            “Great.” Dean takes his phone out. “Imma call Sammy, see if he got anything. If we’re lucky, we can be home back tomorrow.” He smiles at Cas. “Thanks, buddy. Dunno what I’d do without’cha.”

            The smile Cas gives him makes Dean’s heart tremble.

*

It is only ten minutes past eleven when the Winchesters in the company of Cas stand at the modest grave in a small cemetery. Equipped with shovels, bottles of gasoline and boxes of salt, they look down at a broken wooden cross with barely visible inscription – letters being the only thing distinguishing the tomb from dozens of others.

            “Alright, let’s do it,” exclaims Dean clasping his hands, fake enthusiasm in his voice. “Quick salt ‘n’ burn and we’re going back home.”

            “Hopefully.” Sam reaches for one of the shovels.

            “ _Hopefully_? Dude, you’re the one who wanted to get here!”

            “Yeah, but if we finish this quickly, we can get to something different soon.”

            “Geez, chill down. We could use vacation once in a decade, y’know.” Dean rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, digging into the cemetery ground. He shoves some of the soil aside. “You gonna use your angelic strength and help us a bit, Cas?” he asks.

            Dean doesn’t raise his head until after solid ten seconds without any response pass. For some reason, the air suddenly feels cooler. Slowly, Dean looks up.

            Cas is standing there, with a shovel already in his hands, but there’s something wrong. He’s looking at Dean but it appears like he can’t see him. The angel takes a faltering step back as a thin stream of blood pours from his nose. He falls onto the ground before Dean even has a chance to call his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the school year is slowly coming to an end and teacher desperately need more grades, I fear that the next chapter may take longer than four weeks to write. Although I hope I will manage to deliver it to you in time. Thanks for keeping up!


	6. FAINTING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I know. It's been 84 years and now I'm coming back to you with little over a thousand words for the chapter. What the hell? Well, my school year has only recently ended and you probably know this deep, cold and dark hole of indifference you fall into at the verge of the end of a school year and at the beginning of holidays? Yes, of course, you do. I spent the last weeks binge-watching shows on Netflix instead doing anything productive, that's where the lack of updates/this shitty chapter comes from. I can't say much more than: "I apologise" and "I promise I will do my best to deliver a longer chapter as quickly as I can". Thanks for the patience and I hope you'll enjoy nevertheless.

The first thing that comes to Castiel, as he slowly regains his sense, isn’t pain. In fact, the pain comes the last. At first, he hears. Familiar deep voices speaking illegible words away from him, the sounds vibrating in Castiel’s bones and bouncing off the inside of his skull. Then comes the smell, musty and sickening, permeated by a strong scent of alcohol. He knows that smell, it’s what every shabby motel room reeks of. Then the bed. He’s sure that he’s lying in one – he recognises the stiffness of the sheets and the squeak of the springs when he tries to move.

            Pain comes the last.

            Castiel lets out a grunt as a wave of blinding pressure hits his brain. He’s almost sure that his skull is collapsing around his brain; that his entire body is collapsing, sharp bones digging into flesh and all vital organs. He feels like he’s on fire, hot stings of pain piercing his entire body, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. His lungs are full of holy fire and squeezed, chest too tight to take a breath.

            And just like that, all of it is gone.

            Slowly, Castiel tries to open his eyes, but he closes them immediately as the morning sun hits his face. He covers his eyes with his hand and tries again. It doesn’t give him much, all he sees are colourful stains, moving on the edge of his vision. There’s a gasp coming from nearby and a sharp, almost terrified “Cas!” before two additional stains appear before the angel’s eyes.

            “Cas, you okay?” Castiel hears Dean, panic ringing in the hunter’s voice.

            “I’m fine,” the angel rasps out as he drags himself up to a sitting position and rubs his eyes. When he looks around, he can finally differentiate the shapes of furniture and see the Winchesters on both his sides, although he still can’t see clearly. He just hopes his vision will return to normal soon.

            “You didn’t look “fine” on the graveyard,” huffs Sam on Castiel’s left, arms crossed on the wide chest.

            The angel shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he lies, although knots of worry tie on his crumpled stomach. “I, I must have been tired, that’s all.”

            “Tired?” Dean straightens and takes a step back away from the bed. “You were tired, huh? You were out for _three days_ , Cas.”

            “What...?”

            “You really don’t remember anything, do you?” Sam sighs. “You fainted on the graveyard. When we were there to burn the body, you know. The nightwright. We were digging, Dean asked you to help, we look up and…”

            “And you have a nosebleed and then you fall,” Dean finishes with anger. “You’re out for _three days_ , we couldn’t get you to wake up. Are you done pretending that everything’s fine?”

            “I…” stutters Castiel, but he stops as he looks up at Dean. His vision is getting its focus back, he can clearly see Dean's soul burning bright in his body, so bright that Castiel can barely see his face. But what he sees, seems to take his breath away yet again. In those green eyes, those beautiful green eyes, there's no rage, no wrath. There's just disappointment and hurt. And sorrow, so much sorrow Castiel just wants to fall asleep again. He didn't mean to upset Dean, not ever; that's exactly why he kept quiet – so Dean wouldn't have to worry. But now both the Winchesters seem to be worried and that's how Castiel gets reminded – they care. _They care._

            “Tell us what's wrong, man,” Sam asks, squatting next to Castiel's bed. “We're a family, remember? Don't lie to us.”

            “I have nothing to say,” the angel murmurs quiet, averting his eyes from the Winchesters.

            Dean scoffs. He walks over to the kitchenette, shaking his head in disbelief. “You're _impossible_ !” he exclaims, kicking the nearest chair. “We had a deal, man! You fucking _promised_ to tell us if something's wrong! ‘Specially after the last fucking time you _died_! And now you faint outta blue and, still, you-”

“I have nothing to say because I don't know what's happening,” Castiel cuts him off, sliding his legs off the bed and sitting up straight. Only now he realises that his coat, along with his suit jacket and tie, are gone.

            “And what the Hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean wants to know, expression still more sorrowful than mad.

            “It means…” the angel exhales sharply with a hint of irritation and buries his hands in his dark dishevelled hair. “It means that I’m _aware_ that something is out of the ordinary, something really bad, but I _don't know_ what exactly is the case.”

            Both hunters fall silent for a few moments. Castiel can feel the shifts of worry in their souls, how Dean's almost seem to crumble with fear for _him._

            “Okay,” Sam clears his throat. “Why don't you tell us what's wrong _exactly_ , huh? Because that fainting thing freaked us good.”

            And so, the angel tells them. He tells them everything that was wrong, everything from the night four days earlier up until the moment he fainted on the graveyard. The pain, the exhaustion, how strange his grace feels in his veins, how it doesn't seem to regenerate the way it should, how he simply feels _bad._

            Once he finishes, neither of the Winchesters speak a word. They just exchange those “there-is-something-up-and-we-have-to-do-something-about-it” looks and their jaws clenched and postures tensed.

            “Damn it, Cas,” Dean finally breaths out, running a hand through his dirty-blond hair. It’s getting too long, Castiel notices. He should clip them soon. “Why… ugh, why didn’t you tell us, buddy?”

            The angel inspects his hands closely. “Because I didn’t want to worry you.”

            Sam lets out a short laugh that’s anything but amused. “And what? You think we’re not worried about you now?”

            “I’m sorry,” mutters Castiel and bites on his lip. He did it again. He disappointed the Winchester brothers yet again. It seems like no matter what he does, or rather what he attempts to do right always turns out the other way. He should have learnt his lesson by now. He should have known that nothing good will come out of his doing. Even now, instead of showing remorse he’s just burying himself even deeper in self-loathing.

            “Don’t you sorry me now.” Dean raises his hand, giving the angel a stern look. “Let’s just agree on something, all three of us, alright? No more secrets.”

            “No more secrets.” Sam agrees.

            The brothers look at Castiel expectantly.

            With the gut-clenching feeling that always appears inside him every time he knows he’s about to lie, the angel slowly nods. “No more secrets.”


	7. CHILLS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I come to you with another chapter! Are you excited? Because I sure am, the plot finally begins to move. Or rather, it's going to. And, hey, this time this Destiel fanfic has some Destiel! What's something new here, ain't it? Either way, enjoy!

The ride back home isn’t pleasant. If three days ago, Dean thought that the atmosphere in the car was bad, now it’s simply unbearable. Cas is sitting on the back with his forehead pressed against the window, such an expression of a kicked puppy on his face Dean wants to scream. Sam is on the front with a laptop on his lap, constantly hitting the buttons, his eyes running through pages and pages of text. But, somehow, the older Winchester doubts that Sam will find anything useful on the web this time.

            And then there is Dean. He doesn’t know what he feels, Hell, he doesn’t know what he _should_ feel. Should he be angry that Cas kept something from them after _promising_ not to ever do that again? Should he be hurt that the angel damaged his trust? Should he be disappointed with Cas’ behaviour? He feels none of those things. Everything is drowning in a cocktail of worry and fear bubbling in his stomach.

            Every now and then, Dean turns his eyes to the back mirror and looks at Cas. He looks… _bad_. Only now Dean notices that Cas’ face is pale and his blue, blue eyes are glassy, jaw clenched tightly.

            Dean swallows against the lump slowly growing in his throat, a knot tying in his guts. _Shit_.

            Why hasn’t he noticed what shape Cas is in? The angel knows how to hide, how to pretend and how to make excuses, of course. He got especially good at it in the past five or six years, without a doubt picking it up from Sam and Dean himself. Yet somehow, Dean still thinks he should have noticed. Goddamnit, they slept in the same bed just a few days ago, he should have pushed Cas into answering when he found the angel on his knees, hands buried in his hair. But no, of course, no, as always, he had to decide to ignore it.

            He clenches his hands on the steering wheel even more.

 _Why hasn't he seen this coming?_ Why hasn’t he noticed that something is out of place, that something is wrong? He should have! Goddamnit, he should have! He knows Cas so well, after all, then… Or does he? Dean looks at Cas in the back mirror again.

            How long do they know each other? How many years have passed since that weird night in the barn? Ten? That’s a long time, far longer than any of Dean’s friends have lived. And, most of all, it’s more than enough time to get to know someone. And Dean has honestly thought that he knows this ridiculously dorky, socially awkward, but, oh, how gentle and sweet angel sitting on his back seat. But right now, when he’s looking at his tired face, Cas seems completely foreign.

            Dean shakes his head almost frantically and looks at the road again. No. He shouldn’t be thinking this way, he shouldn’t let such thoughts even cross his mind. It’s because he’s worried, that’s all.

            “So,” he finally speaks up, shattering the long-held silence in between the three of them. “How about you tell us what’s wrong _in detail,_ Cas?”

            The angel gives a tired grunt, blue eyes still glued to the view passing behind the window. “I’ve already told you.”

            “Oh, yeah, “sick” is so specific,” mumbles Sam from above the computer screen. Dean thanks his brother for support in his mind. Just for this once, they’re agreeing with something. To Dean, it seems like his brother is equally worried and maybe even slightly more pissed. After all, not only Dean’s trust has been damaged.

            Cas sighs and sits up on the back seat, hands resting on his knees. However, he’s still not looking at either of the Winchesters. He hasn’t since they’ve left the motel room. Dean fears that the angel might still be hiding something, judging by his defensive attitude. Or maybe Dean is just getting paranoid. Again.

            “My head hurts,” Cas states at last. “I get headaches, completely random. I, I feel drained and tired and my grace feels weird.”

            “Weird,” echoes Sam. “Another exceptionally specific adjective.”

            Dean gives his brother a look. “Easy there,” he hisses lowly. “Let him talk.”

            Sam just looks at Dean with big hazel eyes, as if he was utterly surprised with Dean’s protective behaviour. As if Sam wasn’t the one to tell him to act nicer just a few days ago.

            “You wouldn’t understand,” mutters the angel. “You’re human, you don’t have grace. It’s, it’s…” he thinks for a moment, a little wrinkle appearing in between his eyebrows. Dean would think it’s adorable, in a way, if it wasn’t for this awful situation they’re in.

            “Grace feels like… like this sweet soda, you drink sometimes. Like the blood of my v-... _my_ blood has bubbles. Like it’s buzzing, sometimes when it’s quiet enough, I can hear it. But lately…” Cas looks away from the window, shifting his gaze onto his hands. “I can’t.”

            Sam takes a moment to process this information. “You’re pretty much saying that your blood is turning into decarbonated soda?”

            “You could call it that. I really don’t know how I should explain it to you in a different way. This is just how I _feel_.”

            “Since we came back from that demon hunt?”

            “Since we came back from that demon hunt. Yes.” The angel nods slowly. “I thought… I thought I just haven’t regenerated properly just yet. That last encounter with Lucifer…” he swallows. “It was the fifth time I was killed and then brought back and with each time I’ve always felt weaker and needed more time to get back to my full strength. I just assumed I’ve used too much of my power on that hunt and that’s why I was feeling bad.”

            Dean bites his lip. “That happened before?” he asks. “Headaches after coming back?”

            Ten full seconds pass before Cas quietly says: “No.”

            “Goddamnit!” Dean smashes his hand against the steering wheel.

            Castiel looks at him, startled, for a couple of seconds before his blue eyes wander back to the view behind the window.”There’s not much I can do now, other than apologize. Again,” he murmurs.

            “I know. We know,” Sam cuts in before Dean has a chance to snark back at Castiel. The younger Winchester gives his brother a stern look. _Don’t_ , his eyes seem to say. _Let him be, we’re all stressed._ “Nobody’s blaming you, Cas. We’re just concerned.” He sighs and turns in his seat to look at the angel. “How many times do we gotta repeat before it gets to you that we wanna know if something’s up?”

            “I’ve already promised that I will in the future,” utters Castiel. Dean sees him shiver in the back mirror.

            “You cold, Cas?” he asks, despite it being a warm and sunny day.

            “A bit.”

            Without another word, Dean stops the car. Sam and Cas give him questioning looks, but he just opens the door and gets out of the car. He quickly makes his way over to the trunk, opens it and scoops out a blanket. It’s old and scratchy, but warm. He sits back in the car and passes the blanket to Cas.

*

 

They arrive at the bunker a few hours later, all of them still tensed. What was supposed to be a quick salt ‘n’ burn turned to be, first of all, an encounter with a monster they haven’t even known about before and, second, discovery of what Dean should have noticed a long time ago. Does it make anything better? No. Is it going to get better? Hopefully. Does Dean feel guilty? As hell.

            When they were still on their way, Cas’ gave Sam a full list of all his symptoms. The amount of those almost made Dean drive Baby into a tree. He hasn’t spoken a word to the angel since. It might not look like much, considering that the drive back home wasn’t long, but still there’s guilt and repentance all over Cas’ face. And that expression makes everything even worse, it shows the Winchesters that the angel knew, all too well, what he was doing, hiding his bad well-being.

            “Alright,” Sam breathes out once they walk into the war room and throw their heavy bags onto the floor. “I’m gonna grab a bite and get to my research. You guys want anything?”

            Dean shakes his head. “I’m good.” He places his hand on Cas’ shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s get you to your room, you ain’t gonna sit over books with us.”

            “What?” Castiel looks at him with surprise. “Why? I can help you; it’s my problem after all.”

            “You mispronounced _ours_ ,” mutters Sam, arms crossed on his chest.

            “Yeah, exactly.” Dean’s grip on the angel’s shoulder tightens a little. “And I don’t want to get your nose bleed all over the books. You’ve a time-out, buddy. You’re going to your room and rest.”

            “But…” Cas wants to protest, but Dean just gives him one of “do-not-argue-with-me” looks, so he falls silent and nods.

            Gently, Dean pulls Cas towards the door leading to where the bedrooms are. “Make me a sandwich, too, Sammy.”

            Once they leave the war room, Dean keeps silent all the way to one of the empty bedrooms close to his own, hand still on the angel’s shoulder. Only as they enter and close the door behind them, Dean turns around to face Cas, his throat tight and jaw clenched.

            “Don’t _ever_ do that again!” he hisses out, hoping he doesn’t sound too desperate. “ _Ever._ ”

            Cas gives him those puppy eyes that make Dean’s shrink a little. “ _Dean_ ,” he says in _that_ tone. “I’m sorry, I truly am. I didn’t want to worry you, and…”

            “Oh, so you think that I’m not worried _now_?”

            “I know you are…”

            “You have to promise me you’ll never do that again.” Dean’s other hand finds it way to Cas’ face, cupping it surprisingly gently. “Again. To me. You know I _can’t_ lose you. Not again, it’s been enough.”

            Very slowly, the angel nods, clear blue eyes looking into Dean’s green ones. “I promise I’ll never lie to you or hide anything from you.”

            Dean lets out the breath he didn’t even know he was holding and nods with relief. He can’t even tell why Cas’ words made the weight from his shoulders go away, even if only a little bit. It hasn’t been even a day since the angel woke up after his three-day-long pass-out _and_ random nosebleed _and_ apparently hiding a migraine. There’s _no_ reasons for Dean to believe him now, no reason to trust him again. No reason other than him being an idiot, that is.

            He pulls Cas into a short, but starving kiss, fingers curling in the angel’s ruffled hair. _God_ , does he hate acting like there’s nothing but friendship between them, but he knows it’s got to be this way for some more time. Maybe once Cas feels better, he’ll finally tell Sam about this… whatever he has with the angel. But now it’s not the time to think about that. All Dean needs at this moment is Cas’ chapped lips, even if only for a few seconds.

            “Rest,” Dean rasps out once he breaks the kiss, but he still keeps his face so close to Cas’ their lips almost brush. “Take a nap, call me if you need anything. Sammy and I will find a way to fix you up.”

            “ _If_ there’s a way,” mutters the angel.

            “Don’t. Dean takes a step back. “Just… don’t.”

            “I know, I’m sorry.” Cas outstretches his arm and Dean leans into a hug with a sigh. Cas smells of cinnamon and honey and ground after the rain. He smells like home.

            After a moment, he pulls away. “Get some rest,” Dean repeats. “I’ll swing by later.”

            With a final hug, he walks out.


	8. COLD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my fellow humans. I come to you with a new chapter of this story. I hope you'll like it; I tried my best to reflect on the Winchester's emotions from Dean's perspective as good as I could. I hope it turned out well. Enjoy!

Once he leaves Cas in his bedroom, Dean slowly makes his way back to the war room, clenching his teeth with such a force he expects to hear them crack at any moment. He feels sick to his stomach, every cell of his tensed body burning in worry. The very last thing he wants to do right now is to leave the angel all alone in a completely different part of the bunker, while he himself will spend the next few hours over books gathered in the bunker.

            Dean knows all too well that Cas isn’t too optimistic about his situation, whereas Sam tries to remain calm, or rather – he pretends to be so the others don’t break. But Dean knows his brother well enough to recognize the fear hiding behind a faked hopeful smile. Yes, if there’s anything both Winchester brothers are good at, it’s lying and hiding their fears from each other, even when it’s their mutual friend’s well-being is at stake.

_             Friend’s. _ Now, that’s a good one. Dean and Cas aren’t friends, not anymore. Friends don’t exactly make out when nobody sees or sneak into each other’s bedrooms at night. No, what Dean has with Cas is not friendship. Actually… what is it? Are they still dating if they’ve never been on a date and Dean still wants to keep their… changed relationship secret? He probably should quit that soon, it’s been over three months after all. Sam should know.

            But then again, if Dean admitted his  _ feelings _ for Cas to anyone or even to  _ himself _ , it would make them real. There would be no turning back and,  _ God,  _ does this perspective terrify him. He did have his fair share of relationships before, ones that lasted more than one night, yet still, the longest thing he’s ever had was with Lisa. And that didn't end too well, for either of them.

            If Sam were to hear Dean’s thoughts, he’d call him paranoid, but Dean can’t deny how scared he is; how every time he touches or kisses Cas it feels like he’s hurting the angel. Because he knows this thing they have just can’t end well; not with the end Dean’s every other relationship ended, not with how their lives look, not with… not with the way Dean is.

            Honestly, after over ten years of knowing Cas and almost four months since he stopped pretending that he hasn’t developed feelings for him, Dean still can’t even begin to comprehend how this came to him. Not that Dean doesn’t have reasons to fall for Cas, the guy dragged him out of Hell and broke Heaven for him. But the other way around? No, that still seems unreal to Dean, like some kind of a dream or a very sick joke played on him by… Yeah, by who? Surely not God, that one is gone Hell-knows-where. 

            After all, there’s no reason for Cas to love the violent, selfish and broken shell of a man Dean is.

_             Love _ .

            The thought alone makes Dean’s heart throb painfully in his chest because there’s no point in denying or trying not to see that. It’s clear and Dean knows it. Cas loves him more than he’d ever deserve. Dean  _ knows _ that he doesn’t deserve Cas, never did and never will. And maybe that makes him so hesitant.

            With all of these thoughts weighing on his shoulders, Dean comes back to the empty war room. Sam must be still in the kitchen, he guesses, so instead of allowing himself to drown in his own self-loathing and, consequently, booze, he begins to look through the books stacked on the shelves in the room. If they don’t find anything useful there, they still have a library and boxes full of Men of Letter’s data all around the bunker. They’ll find something. They have to.

            When Sam finally comes back to the room, Dean has already picked out some books and stacked them up on the table. There aren’t many books on angels there, but Dean doesn’t doubt there’s more in the library. But that’s all they have and so, it must be good enough. He looks up from the yellowed pages and glances over at Sam as the younger Winchester gives him a plate of sandwiches.

            “Full focus, huh?” Sam asks as he sits across from Dean with his own food and reaches to one of the bags still sitting by the table’s legs. 

            Dean rolls his eyes and bites into the sandwich. “What’d you think?” he grunts with his mouth full. “Something’s wrong, I’m worried.”

            “Well, you’re not the only one.” 

            Sam pulls out his laptop and boots it. “So, get this,” he says with his eyes glued to the screen, completely ignoring Dean’s displeased groan. “I don’t know how much of my conversation with Cas you heard, you seemed like your mind’s somewhere else.”

            “It was.” Dean wipes his mouth with his hand and closes the book he’s been studying before Sam came into the room. There was nothing useful in it anyway. “Why?”

            “Because Cas kinda told me about the stuff that seems outta ordinary for him. You know he doesn’t feel well, right? You registered that much?”

            Dean shoots his brother a glare. “Very funny.”

“Anyway...” Sam pushes a few buttons on his keyboard. “He pretty much gave me a whole list. Headaches, fatigue, exhaustion, this thing with his angel mojo. It looks like he’s just sick to me.”

            “Sick,” Dean echoes with his eyebrows scrunched. “Come on, Sammy. He’s an angel, he doesn’t work like a human. Remember a few years ago, he drank a whole damn liquor store before he got drunk. Nah, he  _ can’t  _ be sick, angels  _ don’t _ get sick,” he states with confidence, but the worry previously boiling in his stomach now is running through his veins. What if Sammy’s right? What if Cas got some kind of angel disease and they can’t get the cure. What will happen to him…?

            “I know, Dean.” Sam runs a hand through his hair and takes the nearest book. He inspects the title before putting it away and reaching for a different one. “I’m just telling you what it looks like to me, but…” He licks his lips. “You don’t think that Cas can lose his grace, do you?”

            Dean almost chokes on his sandwich. “What the hell?” he breathes out. He knows how much Cas cares about his angelic powers, how useless he felt when Metatron stole them. “Why, why would you say that? Why would he be losing his grace? That even possible?”

            Sam just shrugs and opens a leather-bound book with the word  _ Angels _ on the cover. “I have no idea, ” he says, his voice oddly irritated. “I’m just telling you what it looks like to me. He, he said he has  _ headaches _ ? He’s  _ sleepy _ ? He told us that angels don’t require sleep! He slept on the back seat when we were fighting Lucifer for the first time and he was hella weak back then! Sleeping is a  _ human _ need, Dean.” He turns a few pages. “Being tired? Alright, that I can wrap my head around. But the last time Cas’ nose bled, he used the little energy he had left to transport us back in time, and…” 

            He stops rapidly and takes a deep breath, clearly trying to calm his nerves. Dean’s heart twitches with guilt as he catches himself being surprised over Sam’s fear.  _ Goddamnit, Dean,  _ he reproaches himself in his mind.  _ You ain’t the only one who cares about Cas. Don’t think you are jus’ because you’ve something going on with him. _

            “Sammy,” Dean suddenly hears his own voice. “It’s gonna be okay.”

            “Since when you’re so optimistic, Dean?” Sam asks with a snort as he furiously flips through yellow pages of the leather bound book. “There’s… there’s something wrong with Cas,  _ again _ , and we just got him back…” He presses his lips into a thin line, his hands gripping the book so hard the pages crumple and his knuckles turn white. “I’ve had enough, Dean.”

            “Enough what?”

            Now Dean is utterly confused. The last thing he’d expected to go through this day is Sam’s sudden outburst. Obviously, at this point Dean really shouldn’t be surprised that there’s something Sam is hiding away from him; after all, it’s one of the Winchester family main traits, yet somehow this sudden shift of mood caught Dean by surprise. 

            He watches carefully as Sam raises his hazel eyes at Dean, those hazel eyes Dean looked into so many times and suddenly, all Dean sees is a lost scared boy, not a thirty-six-year-old man. 

            “I’ve had enough people I love dying.”

*

Sam and Dean spend the next few hours going through the lore, reading every book, scrolls and pieces of paper they have on angels, they read every record that can have anything to do with angels, search the web and they even go as far as reading through some of the papers they have on various diseases. That one turns out to be an eight volume long series of books with pages so thin they almost break in the brothers’ hands. But even after doing that much research, there’s still…

            “Nothing!” Sam exclaims, throwing his hands into the air. “There is nothing, Dean! I swear I will kick something if I have to read an angel characteristic one more time!”

            Instead of saying anything, Dean just looks tiredly at his brother over book three. He doesn’t like the way Sam is behaving, irritated and angry and reminding Dean of himself way too much. Nevertheless, Sam is right. They found nothing on Cas’ disease. They haven’t even found anything saying that angels  _ can _ get sick. Dean would think that they’re overreacting if it wasn’t for the fact that they  _ aren’t _ . There  _ is  _ something wrong with Cas and they seem to be unable to find what.

            “Yeah, I know,” grunts Dean as he rubs his eyes. He looks at his watch and sighs. They came back home around noon and now it’s almost ten. “Let’s take a break.” He stands up. “I’ll go check on Cas, he was suspiciously quiet all this time.”

            “You do that,” Sam mutters. “I’ll look some more.”

            Dean turns to his brother. “There’s nothing here, Sammy,” he says sternly. “Go to bed, get some shut eye. We can get back to it tomorrow.”

            Sam looks briefly at his phone. “It’s nine-forty, I’m not six to go to bed this early.”

            “Yes, you are.” Dean pats his brother’s shoulders. “C’mon, we’ve been sitting over this for hours. We’ll get back to it tomorrow. Go to sleep, Sammy.”

            “Fine,” sighs Sam after a while and throws his brother a thankful look. “You go check on Cas, yeah?”

            With a confirming nod, Dean turns around to leave the war room. He’s exhausted but this has very little to do with actual sitting over books and scrolls for continuous hours. He’s mentally exhausted, by everything that’s happening and as he knows his life, it’s just the beginning.

            He chews on his lips as he makes his way to Cas’ room. No. Hell, no. He’s not going to think like that, not with Cas being weak and Sam on the verge of a mental breakdown. If there’s a moment for Dean to feel sorry for himself, it certainly isn’t now. 

            Before he knocks on the door to the room temporarily serving as Cas’ bedroom (Dean would hope it’d stay Cas’ bedroom if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d prefer to have the angel in his own bed) and waits for an answer. It comes fairly soon in the form of a faint “come in”. And so, Dean does.

            He peeks inside and his gaze immediately falls at the angel sitting on his elbows in the bed. He looks tired, that for sure, but it also seems like he slept quite a bit. His hair is a complete mess, blue eyes looking at Dean sleepily. It would be adorable if it wasn’t for the shape Cas is in. 

            “Dean?” he rasps out.

            “Yeah, it’s me, buddy.” Dean closes the door behind himself and comes closer to the bed to sit on its edge. “Why… why you sleeping with your coat on?”

            “I’m cold,” mutters Cas, pulling the comforter up to his chin and shivers. “I don’t have any blankets, so I’ve decided to keep my clothes on.”

            Dean furrows, concern rising in his guts again. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll bring you some more blankets.”

            “Actually…” the angel slowly reaches for Dean’s hand. “Could you… just stay with me?”

            “You’re such a dork, Cas,” chuckles Dean with a fond smile. “Sure, I’ll stay. Sammy’s probably asleep by now. He should get some serious rest, we all should.”

            With that being said, Dean slides under the covers next to Cas, wrapping his arms around the angel. Cas sighs out contently as he tucks his head under Dean’s chin and relaxes against the warmth of the hunter’s body.

            “Better?” Dean asks quietly, slowly stroking Cas’ back.

            “Much better. Goodnight, Dean.”

            Dean smiles a little and presses a kiss to Cas’ ruffled hair.

            “G’night, angel.”


	9. FEVER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my fellow humans. I bring to you another chapter, and after eight, in this ninth something finally, happens. Unfortunately, I didn't have this piece beta'd, so if you notice any mistakes or errors, please let me know.  
> Enjoy!

Dean doesn’t know when he’s fallen asleep; all he knows is that it’s comfortable and warm. Maybe even a little  _ too _ warm but that’s not something unusual when you’re plastered to someone and buried under a thick comforter with the heating still turned on. Nevertheless, it’s still the coziest Dean has felt in what feels like ages. With a quiet groan, he slowly opens his eyes and presses his cheek tighter against Cas’. And that’s when it finally gets to him. Cas is  _ hot _ .

            With his eyebrows furrowed, Dean gently lets go of Cas and props himself up on an elbow. Then, he lights the lamp standing at the head of the bed and looks at the angel, who is still curled asleep in the covers. His forehead is covered in driblets of sweat, to the point where his dark hair is sticking. Cas makes a small, displeased sound as he tosses in his sleep, revealing more damp skin.

            “Hey, buddy,” Dean says softly as he combs his fingers through the angel’s sweaty hair, pushing it away from his face. “Come on, wake up.”

            Cas grunts again as his muscles suddenly jump and the breathing immediately goes more shallow. He opens his eyes, wide and shining and still sleep-fogged. “Dean?” he asks weakly. “What’s happening?”

            “You tell me.”   Dean slides out of the bed and kneels right next to it, so he can get a good view at the tired angel. Cas looks even worse than yesterday, dark circles around his eyes and beads of sweat rolling down his face and neck.

            “Easy,” Dean says. “Don’t get up. You look terrible, man. What’s wrong?”

            “I don’t know.” Castiel shakes his head frantically, hands raising up to his face. “I don’t feel too good.” He pushes the comforter off himself and tugs at his coat and jacket to take them off. “It’s too hot here.”

            “Hey, hey, I said easy.” Dean grabs Cas’ hands to stop him from shuffling in the covers. “Just calm down, alright?”

            Castiel nods but he doesn’t seem anywhere near calm. His chest rises and falls in quick sequences as if he had difficulties with breathing. Dean slowly lets go of Cas' hands and presses a hand to his forehead. The hunter’s eyes widen. “Jesus, Cas,” he breathes out.

            The angel’s skin is hot, way hotter than it should be by human standards. Cas’ body has always been warmer than human, mostly due to the grace buzzing inside of him, but right now, Dean gets the impression that his hand would get burned if he kept it there for few moments longer. Just yesterday Cas said he was cold and he  _ felt  _ cold, but right now, it’s like he’s on a verge of melting. It’s almost like he’s radiating heat, like he has a small sun in his chest, and by some  _ fucking miracle _ , this sudden rise in temperature didn’t wake Dean earlier.

            “You’re feverish,” Dean states, gazing at the angel with concern. He swallows hard when Cas pushes his hand away.

            “I know,” the angel rasps. “I, I can’t decrease my body’s temperature,” he almost whimpers. “My grace…” he closes his eyes and shakes his head again, tugging at his shirt. “It’s too hot here!”

            In a matter of a heartbeat, Dean is already by the door, half-stepping outside of Cas’ room. “Sammy!” the hunter calls out. “Sammy, come here! I need your help!” And then he’s back by the angel’s side again, helping him to a sitting position. 

            “What’s happening?” is the first thing Sam says when he storms into the room, loose sweatpants and a crumpled T-shirt on. He has a speck of toothpaste in the corner of his mouth, his hair a complete mess. He looks at his brother and the angel with wide hazel eyes, confusion all over his face.

            “Come on, help me get him up,” Dean says in a rushed voice, putting one of his arms under Cas’. The angel’s disorientated face tells him that he begins to have issues with understanding what's happening.

            Wordlessly, Sam quickly gets to Cas’ other side and tries to grab him the same way Dean does, but he flinches away.

            “Christ!” Sam exclaims, now even more confused than before. “He’s burning!” 

            Dean huffs. “Yeah, I know.” He knows there’s panic ringing in his voice and he very much wishes he could keep his cool right now. “And we don’t got any tubes. Come on, Sammy, help me drag him to the showers!” 

            Sam just nods. Cas makes a pained sound when, together, the brothers pick him up from the bed, their skin quickly reddening from Cas’ heat. Dean doesn’t know how it’s even possible, but it seems like the angel’s temperature is rising and rising, with no intentions of dropping down. Can angels die from overheating? God. Dean hopes not.

            With effort and a lot of stumbling on the corners of the corridors, the brothers somehow manage to drag Cas across the bunker, and into the bathrooms. Well, showering room. The bunker’s bedrooms don’t have separate bathrooms attached to them, however, instead of that, there are two big showering rooms with ten cabins in each. It doesn’t give much privacy but it’s enough. Especially now.

            If only Cas was human… well, then in first place, his body would never get so hot. But if he was, if this fever was normal, maybe then Dean would know how to deal with it in a non-invasive way. But Cas isn’t human, and this fever isn’t normal,  _ and _ it’s not the first time Dean has to deal with a not-normal fever. 

            They open the door leading to the showering room with a kick, not minding the little pieces of wood chipping off around the lock and door handle. 

            Dean pants as they shuffle across the room with Cas hanging in between them, the angel almost unconscious.

            “Alright, hold him,” Sam breathes out as he carefully lets go of the angel, giving Dean enough time to wrap his arms around Cas and keep him up straight, preventing from falling over. 

            “Come on, buddy,” Dean mutters as Sam quickly makes his way to the nearest cabin and pulls the curtains aside. “Don’t faint on me.”

            But it seems like Cas has already passed out somewhere along their way here. Dean raises his head up when he hears the water pouring in one of the shower cabins.

            “Let’s get him there,” Sam says with tension in his voice, as grabs the unconscious angel again and helps Dean drag him under the stream of freezing water. It’s pouring over all three of them, but Dean couldn’t care less about getting wet. He shivers when the cold water soaks through his shirt, Sam and he sitting Cas down on the cabin’s tiles. The angel’s skin makes an unpleasant hiss when it’s met with the water, and Dean could swear that he can see thin, white stripes of steam rising up into the air. His stomach flips.

            The brothers take a step back, watching the angel with hearts thrashing in their chests painfully, hoping to whatever entity is still out there that it will somehow beat Cas’ temperature down.

            Sam makes a move like he wants to pull Dean into a hug and assure him that everything’s going to be alright but decides against it and just takes a deep breath, fists clenching at his sides. 

            And then Cas finally moves. 

            He inhales sharply and jerks under the stream of water, the breath of air immediately turning into a cough as the liquid gets into his mouth and nose. Sam immediately gets back into the cabin to turn the shower head off, and kneels down next to the angel, clothes sticking to his wet body.

            “Cas?” the younger Winchester asks as Dean, for a brief moment unable to move, squeezes next to them, grabbing Cas’ shoulder. His skin isn’t burning anymore but it’s not appropriately cool either. “Cas, you okay?”

            The angel coughs a couple more times and wipes the water off of his face before turning confused blue eyes at both of the brothers. “What’s going on?” he asks with a ragged voice as he tries to pull himself up. 

            “You were smokin’ hot, Cas, and I don’t mean it figuratively,” Dean forces himself to joke but there’s a big ball of ice freezing him from the inside. He gently presses his hand to Cas’ forehead once again. It’s far from what Dean would consider “normal,” but it’s the best they can get right now. “You gotta tell us what’s happening, buddy. We dug through the books and there’s nothing on a weird-ass angel diseases.”

            “I don’t know either,” rasps Cas in response. His face is unnaturally pale, a sickening contrast to what he normally looks like with his warm tanned skin. “I, I’ve never heard of any kind of a disease, angels don’t have those.” He coughs. “Maybe it’s a curse.”

            Sam swallows so hard it’s audible, jaw tensing behind the stubble-covered cheeks. “A curse?” he echoes. “We… oh God, how could we not consider this possibility?” He runs a hand through his wet hair, droplets of water falling down. “But that wouldn’t make any sense! It’s been ages since we’ve encountered any witch, our last case was bored demons!”

            “You never told me what’s happened,” Cas suddenly says.

            Dean looks at him with confusion. “Never told you about what exactly, buddy?”

            “The case.” The angel’s eyes are shining with fever, giving Dean the urge to pour some more freezing water. “The one we’ve been on before I passed out,  you’ve never told me what’s happened.”

            “Dean took you back to the hotel and I burned the body,” Sam informs, but Dean doesn’t listen to him. 

            Really? Cas is here, his body almost flaming up and he’s asking about the case? Right, of course, he is. He’s Cas, after all.

            “Yeah, it’s all good,” Dean says, way too softly. “C’mon, let’s get you back into your room, alright? You should sleep some more, we’ll do the research.”

*

Once Dean comes back to the war room again, Sam is pacing from wall to wall with some book in his hands. Dean can’t help but sigh upon seeing this, they both know that they won’t find what they’re looking for in any of the books gathered by the Men of Letters, nor in the documents, nor in the Internet. No matter how sick it makes Dean, he knows that it’s the truth. 

            “How is he?” Sam asks, his eyes flickering away from the thin pages.

            “Asleep again,” Dean replies, aware that it’ll only make his brother even more worried. “You surprised? The guy’s exhausted. Made him some compresses, Imma swing by his room in twenty and change ‘em.”

            Sam nods and glances at the book again. “There’s nothing,” he says, setting the volume aside. “There’s nothing and nobody we could call and ask what to do…” he exhales sharply and buries his face in his hands. 

            “I don’t know what to do either,” Dean grunts. “If angels can’t get sick, and Cas looks pretty damn sick to me, then it’s gonna be a curse. Some kind of a spell, or…” He runs a hand through his hair, hoping that Sam doesn’t notice how much he’s shaking. 

            “But I checked every place Cas’s been in,” Sam points out, trying to approach the problem rationally, as he always does. “We checked  _ him,  _ there’s no hex bag, no markings on his body, no nothing. ‘Sides, if it was a hex bag, we’d be flaming up, too.”

            Dean grunts. “I know, I know.”

            Then he smashes his hands on the table, when a sudden wave of rage crashes through him. “Goddamnnit!” he exclaims. “God-fucking-damnit!”

            “Dean,” Sam says in a soothing voice. “Come on, you can’t get all pissed off now, we gotta find a way to get Cas better.”

            “Yeah, sure, but it’d be much fucking easier if we knew what’s wrong!” Dean pushes some books off the table in an act of desperation. “He exploded, he was torn apart, he was possessed by the fucking Devil! And now what?!”

            “Dean!” Sam says louder, loud enough to catch his brother’s attention. “I think we should call Crowley.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this chapter the worst of them all? Yes, it was, and for that, I do apologize.  
> I just want to add that the school year begins shortly, and thus there's a rather high possibility that I will be updating less frequently.  
> Thanks for attention!


	10. WOUNDS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's been a month. The amount of work I have at school in the new school year is insane and it very often leaves me so creatively drained there's nothing left to pour in the fic. I'm sorry it's been so long, but it seems like ones chapter per month will be the norm now.   
> Nevertheless, I hope you'll like this chapter, 'cause the angst... begins for real now.  
> Enjoy!

“ _ Crowley _ ?” Dean echoes, eyes widening in the utter disbelief that quickly covers all the rage, frustration and worry running through his veins, mixed up with his blood like some kind of poison destroying his body from the inside. “You wanna call  _ Crowley _ ?”

            A deep vertical wrinkle appears in between Sam’s eyebrows as he looks at his brother with serious, hazel eyes. “Dean,” he says slowly, carefully choosing his words. “We’re a bit short on options here. We’ve been through the lore and found nothing. Cas doesn’t know anything either and he’s getting worse. Fast. We gotta do something.”

            Dean swallows around the ball of ice growing in his throat as he slowly considers Sam’s words. The younger brother seems to be right, they’re lacking options and it seems like they’re also running out of time. If Cas has gotten so back in a span of a week, Dean doesn’t even want to think about what the next days, next hours might bring. It almost seems like a dead end.

            Almost. There are still things they can do, they can still call other hunters, still can search for books or manuscripts or scrolls on angels, still, can try… the only question there is, it’s whether they’re willing to put Cas’ life at risk for yet another time. If  _ Dean  _ really would rather put his own pride over the angel’s safety. Yet still, he can’t help but be hesitant. 

            Why on Earth would, now the former, King of Hell want to help them? Because of what they’ve been through together? That’s exactly why Crowley  _ wouldn’t _ lift a finger, wouldn’t want to engage. Not now, not after he pretty much lost all of his influences. That, of course, doesn’t mean that Crowley lost any of his knowledge, or maybe he still has some contacts, knows someone who might have the right information. 

            “I’m… not sure ‘bout that, Sammy,” Dean breathes out at last and covers his face with his hands for a moment. “It’s Crowley we’re talking about, we can’t just trust the guy.”

            He hears Sam scoff. “Seriously? It wouldn’t be the first time he helped us. Or helped Cas, ‘cause that’s what it all is about.”

            “Yeah, but this time it’s not threatening to  _ him _ and we don’t have anything to exchange. Shit, we can’t even pawn our souls!” Dean shakes his head. “‘S the only way we could even get anything from him, and now… Come on, Sammy, Crowley is a wreck!”

            “But a wreck who still knows things and can still help us!” Sam utters, arms crossed on his wide chest. “It wouldn’t be the first time. We’ve got nothing to lose, Dean!”

            Dean cracks his jaw. “We’ve got the  _ time  _ to lose! It wasn’t even a week and Cas already looks like he’s… dying.” The last word comes out choked and broken and Dean can feel stinging under his eyelids. Shit. He’s not going to break down, not now, not in front of Sammy. “Yeah, and that’s not happening, not again.” He clears his throat. “So, I’m not sure if Crowley’s a good idea.”

            Sam sighs heavily and it’s the first time in a long time Dean gives the younger brother a careful look. Sam looks exhausted and Dean doesn’t doubt that he looks just the same. He doesn’t have the finest idea if Sam actually went to bed last night, or stayed up until morning, searching the web and making calls. That’s probably what’s happened, otherwise, Sam wouldn’t suggest asking Crowley for help so easily. 

            Dean bites his lip and scratches his neck, eyes wandering over the books, documents, and scrolls spread across the desks, the screens of two laptops shining brightly. They’re running out of time.

            “Fine,” Dean finally says. “We gotta call Crowley. Later.”

            “Later?” Sam echoes. “I think we’ve just established that we don’t have  _ the time _ !”

            “I know, I know, I know!” Dean waves his hands. “Christ, you really think I’d trade Cas for my pride?”

            “Honestly?”

            “Tochué!”

            The younger Winchester lets out a chuckle but it sounds almost hysterical. “Anyway…”

            “No, I’m serious, Sammy. Let’s just…” Dean shifts his weight to the other foot, unsure of what he’s supposed to do with his hands, unsure what he’s supposed to  _ say _ . There’s something scratching his throat, a familiar sensation, some unspoken words pressing at his tongue and begging to be let out, pressing at the insides of his lips in a powerless attempt to break free.

            Suddenly Dean remembers what he’s promised Cas back at the motel. Those beautiful eyes looking at him with so much uncertainty, and fear and this deep,  _ deep _ and such a warm feeling that makes their blue look like the summer sky. He promised Cas that he’d tell Sam that they’re not just best friends anymore, that there’s something more. He promised to say it out loud, even though he has every right to assume that Sam already suspects something.

            But he can’t. He can’t say it out loud. Saying it would make it real, and there would be no way to take it back.

            “Let’s just what?” Sam rushes his brother with a nervous gesture of his big hands.

            Dean swallows the words down. “Cas. Let’s just talk to Cas,” he says, without really thinking it through first. For a few seconds, his mind was utterly focused on nothing but the angel, who’s most likely asleep by now, wearing one of Dean’s T-shirts. 

            Sam’s eyebrows elevate high on his forehead, to the point there are wrinkles appearing on the tanned skin. “About what?”

            “Uh, I mean…I mean we agreed on something a while ago,” states Dean, desperately trying to find a way out of the hole he just dug for himself. “No decision-making without all of us agreeing, right?”

            “We’re just going to talk to Crowley… And Cas is probably sleeping by now, we’ve just put him to bed half an hour ago.”

            “Yeah, I know, I was there.” Dean licks his lips. “But…” He takes a shaky breath. “If we’re gonna talk to the ex-King of Hell ‘bout Cas, I want Cas to know. Let’s just make it right, okay? I, we,  _ we _ ’re trying to change here, remember? It’s been too many times. You said it yourself.”

            Dean knows it’s playing dirty, almost like emotionally sabotaging Sam into agreeing, but all Dean can feel right now is the panic at how close he got to tell his younger brother about what he’s been suppressing deep down in his throat for months now. Oh, for fuck’s sake, when did their situation got so complicated? Why is it that every time any of them thinks that maybe,  _ maybe _ this time they will have some goddamn peace, something has to go so terribly wrong? At this point, Dean isn’t even sure what peace even is anymore.

            Fuck.

            All he wants is to have a year, one year where he doesn’t wake up every night with his hand searching for a gun while cold sweat covers his body, or worry if Sam is okay, or fear that Cas will never come back to him again and that he screwed up. And for the past few months, it was almost blissful. Cas was there with them, in the bunker, and it was good. They ate meals together, they talked like the family they want to be, hell, they even had those fucking movie nights and it was just  _ good _ .

            Well. It isn’t anymore.

            Here they are yet again, with someone’s life at stake, having fear running in their bodies instead of blood and breathing helplessness instead of oxygen. 

            “You’re right,” Sam breathes out and combs his fingers through his hair. Dean’s hands itch to at least trim them. “We should talk about it, all of us. Sorry.” The younger Winchester scratches his neck. “I’m just scared here. I told you, I just don’t wanna live through this shit again.”

            “You think I do?” Dean cracks his jaw. “C’mon. The sooner we wake Cas up, the sooner we can do something.” He waves his hand at Sam and, together, they walk out of the war room.

            Sam breaks the silence after a moment. “If Crowley doesn’t know anything… I don’t know what else to do.”

            “Then maybe let’s hope that the guy knows,” Dean says with a strained voice. The thought alone makes a cold shiver run down his spine.

            “I know, I know, it’s just… Crowley isn’t himself anymore, he doesn’t have the influence. All we can hope for is if  _ he _ knows anything ‘cause if he doesn’t there’s  _ no one else. _ ”

            Dean grunts. “Don’t talk like we’ve never been in a situation with no apparent way out before, alright?” He clenches his hands into fists. “Cas ain’t dying, whatever shit is happening to him, we gonna fix it. We always do.”

            With the corner of his eye, Dean sees that Sam gives him a concerned look. “Yeah. I’m just scared that this time we don’t.”

            To that, Dean doesn’t reply at all. He doesn’t know how, he doesn’t know what. He eyes his brother for a moment. He’s… changed. Sammy’s changed. Since Dean can remember, Sam has always been better at pretending that everything is alright, because unlike Dean, he really acted like it. He smiled, took care of himself and other people, did everything to convince everyone around that all is fine. 

            And somehow now, looking at him carefully in the dim lights shining in the corridor, Dean can almost see Sam’s facade of pretend slowly crack, little pieces to fall off, revealing the hurt and broken underneath. 

            Dean should have taken better care of him.

            They’re going to make it right,  _ he _ is going to make it right. When they fix Cas, patch him up, they’ll finally do all of it right. 

            The brothers stop in front of the door leading to Cas’ bedroom. Judging by the complete silence, the angel must be sleeping already. Maybe they should leave him like this. The guy almost burnt up in front of their eyes, he should rest. But then again, if they don’t do something now, later it might be too late.

            Sam reaches for the knob and pushes the door open. His eyebrows scrunch as he sees the lamp on Cas’ bedside table shining, while the angel is sitting up straight in his bed, tired blue eyes inspecting something closely on his arm.

            At the sound of the doors falling open, Cas raises his head and suddenly Dean’s stomach decides to do a backflip. There’s a bright red spot on the angel’s forehead, right above his left eyebrow. 

            Without a word, Dean pushes Sam to the side, walk to Cas’ bed and grabs his arms and looks at it. There’s another red spot there, below the crook of the angel’s elbow but it doesn’t look as pretty in comparison to the one on the forehead. The skin on the spot is strangely wrinkled and in an unpleasant yellowish shade in the middle of the bloody red. It looks like…

            “Dean,” he hears Cas’ weak voice. “I think my body is melting.”


	11. HURRY

They went straight to work.

            Dean didn’t pull Sam into pointless conversations to save time again; time was exactly what they’ve just ran out of. As they’ve discovered the awful state Cas’ body went to after less than an hour, they all decided that the time for research, calls and trying to figure out what’s wrong on their own came to an end. A few days was all it took for Cas to go from a perfectly healthy, at least physically, angel to a complete mess, burning hot with fever, coughing blood and with pieces of skin falling off. They need help. Now.

            No matter how much Dean hates just thinking about it, but at this moment, Crowley is the only person they can turn to. That’s true, that after his rather unsuccessful suicide (or should it be said: an unexpected resurrection) the ex-King of Hell hasn’t been himself but the trip to the dead and being back surely didn’t change the amount of knowledge hidden in his head. If there’s at least one person left in this world who knows what might be happening to Cas, Dean hopes as hell that it’s Crowley.

            But even once all three of them agreed on trying to summon the ex-King of Hell, it’s not as simple as it might seem. Even in his current condition, none of them is able to summon a demon out of thin air. Hell, Dean isn’t even sure that Cas on his full power would be able to. The thing is that, contrary to the common belief, summoning a demon isn’t, in fact, summoning them, but more of giving them a call, asking to meet.

            And they’ve been restlessly calling Crowley for the past hours, burning a bowl after a bowl, calling on the phone and begging him to come see them even just for a moment. It’s like they’ve been standing at the demon’s doorstep with their thumbs plastered to the doorbell, hoping that at some point the owner will get tired of the constant, irritating buzzing and he will open the door at last, even if only to tell them to fuck off.

            Since Crowley is their last glimpse of hope, they’re willing to keep bothering the demon as long as it will take, no matter how many ingredients they will have to burn, how many calls from different phones they’ll have to make. The ex-King of Hell just  _ has _ to be still somewhere out there, perhaps in hiding, but he’s  _ there _ and Dean will make sure that he will move his demonic ass to the bunker.

            As for now, it’s Dean’s turn to watch over the angel who used to watch over him. Not that he took Sam’s suggestion of taking shifts with ease; if only he could, Dean wouldn’t leave Cas’ side no matter what. But he has to, not only just for the sake of not alarming Sam or his own immense need to take care of Cas. Dean knows that he’s not the only one who cares about the angel deeply. Sam needs some alone time with his best friend, too.

            Thankfully, the two hours that Dean spent on collecting the ingredients and burning them, dialing Crowley’s number from five phones at the same time, are over and now Dean quickly makes his way back to Cas’ bedroom. With a little bit of luck, the angel will be asleep again, maybe some of the painkillers the Winchesters stuffed him with worked well enough to ease the pain, at least to the point to let Cas sleep. He needs rest.            

            Dean doesn’t even bother with knocking once he reaches the angel’s room, he just turns the doorknob and walks inside. Very much to his relief, he finds Sam sitting in a chair, flipping through some book while Cas is curled under the covers, breathing as deeply as someone whose lungs are about to collapse can. 

            “How’s he doing?” Dean asks his brother quietly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He doesn’t even know what time it is anymore. “Any better?”

            Sam slowly shakes his head. “Not at all.” He vaguely gestures over a small bowl of dirty water on the floor with a towel dipped in it. “Got another wound. It’s getting  _ worse _ , man. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that his vessel can’t contain it anymore.” He bites his lip. “Remember Lucifer?”

            Dean scrunches his nose. “Yeah, no, thanks, I don’t really wanna.”

            “That’s not what I meant.” Sam gives him a bitchface. “I mean that… when Lucifer was in that body at first, it couldn’t contain him so the vessel began to fall apart. His  _ skin _ was falling  _ off _ . Just like Cas’.”

            “Yeah, and?”

            “I’m saying that maybe there’s a way to buy us some time. You know, in case we can’t reach Crowley.”

            “I don’t like the idea of not reaching Crowley.” Dean takes his hands out of his pockets and fights the urge to wrap his arms around himself. He’s scared. God, he’s so scared. “And, honestly, I don’t get what you’re talking about.”

            The younger Winchester stands up. “I’m saying that if we found him another vessel, then maybe…”

            “No!” Dean snaps, harsher and louder than he intended to. He gives a quick, worried look in the direction of the bed, but the angel only grunts in his sleep and shuffles to his other side. “We’re not stuffing him in another body!” Dean hisses.

            “Why not?” Sam raises both of his eyebrows. “I know that finding someone willing to wouldn’t be easy, but… I, I don’t know, he could use one of us for a while?”

            That gains him another violent shake of Dean’s head. “No!” he repeats. “That’s weird  _ and _ dangerous! If Cas’ so sick, we don’t know what he could do to either of us,” he tries to reason, present logical arguments.

            However, the truth is that in the very first moment, just the perspective of having Cas,  _ his  _ Cas in another body made Dean feel just strange. As if having feelings for a celestial length of light wasn’t strange enough in itself. After all, the body Cas is currently occupying was made in the image of Jimmy Novak, but that’s something Dean doesn’t like to think about. No, those blue eyes, and pale-pink lips and big hands are Cas’ and Dean very much doesn’t want to have those away, not once he’s gotten used to it. And, of course, the idea of having the ill angel inside someone else’s body was simply insane, cruel and hellishly dangerous.

            He licks his lips, at the sudden realization that his first instinct was so selfish, so uglily  _ selfish _ . “Cas said he’s sick, not his vessel,” Dean says finally. “Remember what he said about his soda-grace?” He shakes his head once again. “The hell am I letting you do something like that. Better go keep calling Crowley, or the bastard will think we’ve given up.”

            “You’re right,” Sam sighs and gives his brother an empathetic smile. “Bet we’ll piss him off soon enough.” 

            With one last pat on Dean’s back, he walks out, leaving Dean alone with the sleeping angel.

            Dean’s insides still feel heavy with guilt and self-loathing when he closes the door after Sam and slowly approaches the bed. Right now, Cas is lying on his back, beads of sweat covering his tanned face and neck, damping the sheets around him. His dark hair is damp and sticking to his forehead, eyes moving quickly under the closed lids. Dean could bet that whatever the angel is dreaming about, it’s not good.

            “Cas,” he says softly as he places his hands on both of Cas’ shoulders and tries to shake him awake. “Cas, wake up!”

            With a sharp inhale, the angel’s eyes snap open, the once clear blue now fogged with fever and pain. He takes a few more breaths, looking around the room before his gaze turns back to Dean’s face.

            “Dean?” Cas asks carefully, his chest rising and falling, breath wheezing in his throat. “What’s happening?”

            “Thought you’re having a nightmare, buddy,” Dean murmurs, combing his hand through Cas’ hair and pushing it away. It’s soaked with sweat. 

            The angel swallows down hard and nods, a few more drops rolling down his neck. “I was. Thank you…” he suddenly coughs violently, covering his mouth with his hand. It doesn’t stop Dean from noticing the crimson staining Cas’ fingers. “Anything?”

            Dean shakes his head, his ribs clenching around his lungs and pushing all the air out. “Not yet,” he says. “We’ll get to him, don’t worry.” Then he bends down to press a light kiss to Cas’ temple. “I’m not losing you again, buddy.”

            “You don’t know that,” Cas breathes out as he reaches for Dean’s hand and wraps his long fingers around Dean’s calloused ones. “We don’t know what’s happening to me, Dean. We’ve pretty much tried everything. I think it’s about the time we’ve faced the truth; there might be no cure or solution for whatever is happening to me...”

            He suddenly stops, clearly out of breath after talking too much. It’s only been a few days, a few goddamn days and Cas looks like he’s one leg in the grave already. Even his voice is changed. It used to be like a rock on the beach, smoothed out to the point it’s almost soft but still with some kind of roughness to it. Now it sounds like dry and dead earth, cracking under the hot rays of the merciless sun. 

            That break is when there’s rage inside Dean again. “Don’t say that,” he growls. “Don’t you dare say that, Cas! You can’t give up on me! You hear me? You can’t give up, not now!”

            “I’m not…” Cas closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I’m not giving up,” he finally states. “I’m just saying that we ought to be realistic. You and Sam… You’re always so negative about everything, while Sam tries to stay optimistic. And I just suggest this time we should stay realistic. And the reality is that this might be the end for me.”

            “Cas, don’t-!”

            “I’m dying, Dean,” the angel says with a sudden wave of power and energy in his voice, but just like that, it’s all gone again. “I know what dying feels like. I’ve been through it so many times I know when it’s coming. And you should, too.”

            Dean doesn’t reply. How could he? There are no words that could possibly describe the deep pain stabbing every inch, every fiber of his body, burning and twisting and just hurting so,  _ so  _ much. He feels tears collecting in his eyes but this once, he decides not to hide them. He knows, and God, knowing that makes everything so much worse; he knows that if there’s anything that can hurt Cas, it’s seeing Dean hurt. And right now, that’s exactly what Dean wants. To have Cas see him hurt. Because this time, there’s no fight, there’s no threat, there’s nothing to sacrifice for. Cas is simply giving up.

            “Dean!” The door to Cas’ room falls open with such a force they slam against the wall, mugs trembling on the table nearby. “I’ve got him!”

            But Dean isn’t letting Cas give up just yet.

*

_ He’s a mess _ .

            That’s the first thing that comes to Dean’s mind when, together with Sam and Cas supporting his weight on both of them, comes to one of the rooms in the bunker, one with the special demon trap hidden behind the shelves with documents. 

The ex-King of Hell is standing in the middle of the trap with nothing but boredom painted all over his features and that’s about the only thing that looks the way Dean remembered. Right now, Crowley’s black hair is protruding in every possible way and his beard is the bushiest Dean’s ever seen it. He didn’t even bother to put on a tie, or one of the expensive suits he used to wear. Right now, all he has on is a pair of dirty boxer briefs and a baggy T-shirt with Metallica’s logo on it. Dean almost loses it when he sees pink slippers.

            “Moose,” Crowley speaks up when the brothers and the angel stand in front of him. “You brought Squirrel and Feathers. Now we’ve got the whole zoo, lovely.”

            “Cut the shit, Crowley,” Dean growls at him when he and Sam help Cas down onto the nearest chair. “What’s wrong with you? We been trying to get ahold of you for hours!”

            The ex-King of Hell rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’ve noticed. You were extremely annoying. And now, when I’ve finally come to tell you to sod off…” he looks down at the trap, “I see we’re at the start again.”

            Sam scoffs. “We just didn’t want you running away before you help us.”

            “Help you?” The demon manages a snicker, but it’s a fake one. “Why would I help you, Moose? Why would I help any of you? As you might see, I’m not in the best condition right now and I’ve retired. Ask someone else… what’s wrong with you, Feathers?”

Cas lets out a pained groan as he tries to focus his eyes on Crowley. “That’s why Sam and Dean were trying to reach you. I… I think I might be sick.”

            “Sick?” Crowley repeats and,  _ thankfully _ , there’s the slightest spark of interest in the demon’s voice. Or at least, so does Dean think. “How can you catch the flu, you’re an angel!”

            Dean rolls his eyes. “I said, cut the shit!” He clenches his hands into fists. “You know there’s something wrong with Cas, you can sense it, you dick! Now help us!”

            Crowley just shrugs. “What do you expect me to do, Squirrel? Snap my fingers and make your boyfriend all well again? There’s nothing I can do.”

            “But you must know something!” Sam exclaims, desperation ringing in his voice.

            “Oh, why are you even asking me about angels’ deal?” The ex-King of Hell watches his fingernails closely. “I’m just a simple demon, I know nothing about angelic diseases. Perhaps you should ask, I don’t know, an angel.”

            “Oh, very funny!” Dean yells, his fingers itching to clench on Cas’ angel blade and stab that son of a bitch again.

            Sam gives his brother a reproaching look. “Dean, calm down.” Then he looks at Crowley again. “You know something. You know there’s something if you’re telling us to ask an angel. But, if you haven’t noticed now, all the angels are either dead or want to kill us.”

            The demon crooks his head. “What about your old pal Gabriel?”

            “Yeah, right,” now Sam sounds irritated. “Why didn’t we think about asking a dead man?”

            “Please. Do you really think that the archangel Gabriel is dead?”

            “What?” Cas leans forward in his seat, his eyes shining with something entirely different than fever. “What are you saying?”

            For a second, Crowley’s eyes flash deep-red. “I’m saying that Gabriel is alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a cliffhanger, eh?   
> Unfortunately, you'll probably have to wait another month to find out what's going to happen next. Due to a number of things on my head in school, at home and also my personal projects left me with very little time to continue writing this story. I'm not, however, going to stop, so don't worry. The chapters will appear sooner or later, but as for now, you can expect them appearing every 4-6 weeks. I'm sorry for the inconvenience but trust me, I'm doing my best! Even if I do find a moment, I don't want the chapter to be half-assed.   
> I hope you'll understand and I trust you enjoyed!


	12. MEMORIES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, this time it took me less than thirty days to write! This time we focus on feelings a little bit more once again, but not Dean's feelings. Enjoy!

Castiel’s pained heart must have stopped beating for good ten seconds. Truthfully, the angel is already more than amazed that this little organ, so courageously pumping his grace-soaked blood  for so long, keeps working despite the whatever disease chewing on it, as well as on the rest of the organs, and on the blood itself, and on every part of Castiel’s being, really. But upon hearing those words, those three little words, “ _ Gabriel is alive _ ”, for ten very long seconds, Castiel feared that his heart wouldn’t start beating again.

            It did, eventually, and the sound of it flexing at an unhealthily high pace, as well as the air entering and leaving his slowly collapsing lungs, were the only sounds Castiel suddenly could hear in the room. Even the sound of his grace fizzing in his blood quieted down, leaving nothing but the sounds of a barely functioning body behind.

            There’s almost complete and utter silence. It feels almost blasphemous when, somehow, through his tight and dry throat and chattering teeth Castiel presses out a small, weak and, frankly, pathetic: “What?”

            A sly smile spreads across Crowley’s rough face, some kind of a dangerous light flaming again in his dark eyes. 

            “I said, Gabriel is alive,” the demon says nonchalantly, sliding his hands into the pockets of his shorts. He looks very satisfied with himself right now.

            Castiel turns his feverish eyes to the Winchester brothers, trying to focus on their blurred silhouettes and the faint glow of their souls – he used to be able to see them, but now it seems that even this is fading, eaten up by the sickness.

            “You told me he was dead,” the angel says with an almost accusatory tone. Could it be that the brothers lied to him? It wouldn't be the first time

            “Because he was,” Sam tells him, some strange of bitterness ringing in his voice. “He is.”

            Crowley snorts, visibly amused with the whole situation, as if there was nothing more entertaining than a conflict between Sam, Dean, and Castiel. “If you really think he’s dead, Moose, then you really must be dumber than you look. Although…” the demon begins to walk around the trap painted on the floor. “Although I must give you the benefit of the doubt.”

            Sam huffs. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Crowley, but this isn’t funny. And we’re kinda having a situation here, so if you stopped saying shit, we all would appreciate it.”

            “Touchy subject, huh?” Now Crowley seems delighted, as much as a demon can be. Unfortunately, Castiel fails to see what it is exactly what made Crowley so pleased and, in that very moment, he couldn’t care less. The only thought in Castiel’s head is screaming that  _ Gabriel is alive _ .

            “Dean, I’ve changed my mind, let’s stab him,” Sam growls, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

            “Yeah, let’s stab him. But first, talk.” Dean steps forward with his arms crossed over his chest. “What you mean, Gabriel’s alive? How? Lucifer’s stabbed him right in the chest, we’ve been there!” 

            It takes all of Castiel’s strength to pull himself up in the chair and then drag himself up to his feet. All of his muscles ache and even such a simple action as this makes his heart beat even faster, but he simply cannot sit in one place now, not after finding out that Gabriel might be alive. 

            “Oi, take it easy, buddy,” Dean says worriedly and he’s already by Castiel’s side, helping the angel stand up straight. Castiel feels guilt pooling in his guts at the sight of the look on Dean’s face but he decides to ignore it. For now.

            “Tell me,” the angel breathes out instead, looking straight into Crowley’s eyes, and trying to sound as threateningly as a dying person can. “Tell me where he is.”

            The demon just shrugs, but there’s still that smug grin. “How am I supposed to know? As I’ve already told you, I’ve retired.”

            Sam cuts in. “Then how do you know he’s alive?”

            “Oh, please, Moose!” Crowley shakes his head. “You think that Feathers’ daddy dearest would bring  _ me _ back, but he wouldn’t bring back one of his favourite sons?”

            “Yeah, that’s exactly what I think.” Sam walks closer to the demon trap Crowley is standing in, making their massive height difference even more prominent. But that, of course, doesn’t impress the demon in the slightest, he just looks like he’s having a great time. “You don’t remember the deal with the Darkness? Chuck said himself that he doesn’t have enough…”

            Crowley doesn’t let him finish. “And how long ago was that?” 

            “Chuck went somewhere away,” Dean reminds with confidence, but Castiel can feel how the hunter’s body tenses next to his own. “He’s away, he’s not in the business anymore.”

            “Oh for…” The ex-King of Hell rubs his face tiredly, the amusement quickly turning into irritation. “He’s  _ God _ , Squirrel! Did you honestly think he’s just gone away and he’s not around anymore?”

            Castiel doesn’t even try to focus on the conversation anymore. His head, his muscles, his organs, his  _ wings _ , it all rages with unbearable pain and even such a simple thing as standing up quickly drains the poor resources of energy he’s managed to gather in his sleep. Even if he was at his full capacity, it wouldn’t matter. All that matters right now is that Gabriel is alive, that he’s somewhere out there and there is, there really is, a chance that Castiel will get to talk to him again. 

            The angel knows he’s dying, he really does. As he told Dean, he already knows what dying feels like and this time, it’s somehow more permanent. His previous death, no matter how absurd it might sound, were quick. It was just like that, a snap of fingers or an angel blade through the heart and it was the end. Now it’s entirely different. Now it’s slow, the cells dying and not regenerating, everything shutting down piece by piece. Now Castiel can see why humans are so terrified of death.

            But over the span of those days, those days he’s spent in suffering, Castiel made his pace with it. And no matter how the perspective of leaving Dean and Sam hurts, the angel stays realistic. And the reality is that there is a very big chance that these are his last days among the living, and he won’t be brought back again.

            And thus, he has to make the most out of the time he’s left.

            “Crowley,” Castiel rasps, one of his cold hands clenching on Dean's shoulder. “Stop playing games. Tell me where my brother is.” 

            He doesn't even realize he's just made a mistake, calling Gabriel his brother without any explanation. He doesn't look at Dean who's arching his eyebrows, or at Sam whose anger turned into confusion; the angel’s eyes are glued to the demon.

            “I don't know where he is,” Crowley replies, and his words sound surprisingly honestly in the angel’s ears. “I just know he is somewhere out there. I might be retired, Feathers, but I used to be the King of Hell. I still hear things. I still know things. And, really, an Archangel suddenly appearing back on Earth is quite a big deal, wouldn't you say?” 

            “If you're lying…” Sam starts slowly, his voice low and dangerous. But, yet again, Crowley doesn't let him finish his sentence.

            “I'm not lying.” Crowley rolls his eyes. “Why would I?”

            Dean snorts. “Dunno, you're a demon. That's kinda what you do.”

            The ex-King of Hell sends Dean a bored look. “Honestly, Squirrel. After all we've been through together…” 

            “There's nothing in this for you, I believe that's why Dean has doubts,” Castiel says, resting majority of his weight on Dean's shoulder. His knees are shaking and there are spasms of pain going through his abdomen. He can feel that his body demands rest but Castiel can't give it to it just yet. There are more important matters arising.

            “I can see that. But my word is, unfortunately, all you can get. Now, if you're so kind and scrape some of that paint off, we could stop talking and finally  _ do something _ !” 

            His last words come out loud, and irritated, and angry.

            Sam raises his brows doubtfully. “You… want to help us…?” 

            “Oh, please, Moose.” Crowley's eyes turn flash red for a moment once again. “You really think I could miss the party?”

*

“Alright, come on, buddy,” Dean says with a soft tone as he leads Castiel out of the room where they left Crowley and Sam, already discussing their next moves. 

            The angel doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to leave now; not after finding out that his brother is alive. But he barely even has the energy to stand up straight, let alone be useful. There’s sharp stinging on his back. No doubt, another piece of his skin must have fallen off, leaving tender and irritated flesh to rub against the fabric of the borrowed T-shirt. 

            “I want to help you,” Castiel mutters but he doesn’t even attempt to stop Dean, or to shrug his arm off. If anything, the angel leans to Dean’s warmth even more, his eyelids heavy. 

            Dean chuckles, but the angel fails to catch amusement in his voice.

            “Yeah, I know you wanna help,” he assures, squeezing Castiel’s aching side gently. “But it’s gonna be better if you just rest, alright? I’ll stay with you for a moment and then I’ll go help the guys out.” He falls silent for a moment. “I thought Crowley’s changed,” the admits. “But he really didn’t. I mean, you saw the look on that guy’s face when he finds out he knows something we do? Honestly…”

            More silence. Castiel doesn’t know what he should reply, his brain seems to have turned into mush, leaving the thoughts as nothing as incoherent mess flaming up with pain and fever. If he could choose it, and he knows he can’t, he’d just take Dean to his bed and fall asleep with his head on the hunter’s chest, listening to his slow heartbeat. But that’s not something that’s going to happen. There’s some tension in the air.

            Once they reach Castiel’s room and Dean helps him down to the bed, the hunter finally speaks again: “You called Gabriel your brother.”

            Castiel bites down on his dry lip.

            “Just don’t sell me this whole  _ all angels are technically siblings _ bullshit,” Dean adds as he takes a seat next to the angel, the mattress bending under his weight. “There’s something you didn’t tell me, buddy.”

            “You’ve never asked,” Castiel mumbles and slowly reaches for his blanket to wrap it around himself. 

            “Cas…”

            The angel shakes his head, wrapping the blanket tightly around his shoulders. He doesn’t know if he’s cold or hot anymore, but the softness of the fabric brings comfort. “I’m sorry, it’s just… a long story.”

            Dean puts his arm on Castiel’s back and gently rubs soothing circles there. “Hey, I get it if you don’t wanna talk, just…” he stops. He’s not good at talking about their feelings. Neither of them is. “Just if you wanna, then… yeah… You know you can tell me. I mean, no pressure and all, but all those years ago, Gabriel kinda acted like he already knew you…”

            “Because he does know me,” Castiel says bitterly. “He’s my older brother. No, not like all angels are for each other, he…” He swallows down hard. “He raised me.”

            “He… raised you?” Dean sounds confused. “Aren’t you, like… a celestial wave of light or something? How do you put diapers on those?”

            Castiel has a vague feeling that Dean tries to be funny, but he simply doesn’t have enough energy to laugh, or even notice that. “I’m a wave of light in your human understanding,” he explains instead. “This description is the easiest way for me to explain to you what angels are, but… That’s really not the case. Yes, we are fledglings at the start, and we grow up to adult angels.”

            Dean seems to be processing the information. “So… you, like… had little fluffy wings?”

            This time, Castiel smiles. “Yes,” he confirms. “Or at least that’s what Gabriel used to tell me. I don’t remember my past that well. I… I guess I could say that Gabriel was a brother to me, such as you are to Sam.”

            “Buddy, in this case, I can only say sorry.”

            “Don’t say that. You know that Sam could never hope for a better brother,” Castiel tells him, looking up to his green eyes. He can see them now in the same way humans do. This is one of the very few upsides of the situation they’re in: Castiel can finally see Dean’s face in focus, not hidden behind the glow of his soul.  “But…” the angel looks down at this shaking hands. There’s a big round wound on the back of one of them. “I haven’t spoken to Gabriel in a really, really long time.”

            Dean nods understandingly. “How long?”

            “Since Lucifer’s fall. Since Gabriel fled from Heaven. Without me.”

            “I…” Dean stutters. “Man, I’m sorry.”

            Castiel just shakes his head. “You don’t have to. It was a long time ago.”

            “Yeah, I see that, but…” Dean breathes out and pulls the angel into a careful hug. “We’re gonna find him. We’re gonna find him, I promise. And then we’re gonna fix you.”

_             If that’s even possible _ , Castiel adds in his mind but he doesn’t dare to speak those words out loud. He doesn’t want to hurt Dean any more than he already did and still does. 

            Once Dean pulls away from the hug, he leans in to press a soft, very soft kiss to Castiel’s chapped lips. “It’s gonna be alright,” he promises quietly. Then he stands up, and squeezes Castiel’s shoulder in a friendly gesture, giving the angel and unpleasant feeling that he’s trying to cover up that kiss. “Rest. Imma check up on you in few.”

            Castiel watches Dean turn to leave the room, but he stops in the doorframe to send the angel a reassuring smile. Castiel can see why women always look after Dean; he’s really handsome.

            “Dean?” The angel doesn’t even realize when he speaks. “Who are we? Who am I to you?”

            But Dean doesn’t reply. 


	13. EMOTIONS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, fellow humans.  
> Yes, I know it's been 84 years. Yes, I know this chapter is pretty much the shortest one I've written yet. Yes, I know you're probably outraged or hurt or unsubscribing or taking your kudos away. But it was the Christmas season, and then the New Year's Eve, there simply was no time or energy to write, I hope you can understand that. And, yes, I'm openly saying that: this chapter is kind of a filler, but it's a very important one. I hope to wrap this story up in 2, maybe 3 chapters so look out. Thank you for bearing with me for so long! <3

When the door falls shut behind Dean, in his first instinct, he wants to pull it open and run back inside and wrap his arms tightly around Cas and assure him of his feelings. But he doesn’t. He can’t. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling. He doesn’t know how to reply to Castiel’s question. He doesn’t even know the answer.

            What are they? Are they lovers? Secret lovers? Boyfriends? Friends? Are they family?  _ What are they? _

            Dean doesn’t know. He’s never been good with names, he’s paid attention to the labels or gave them to the people around them, or at least not that often. If it’s trying to kill you – it’s an enemy. Sammy, he’s Dean’s brother; Bobby was his father. But who is Cas? Dean used to call him the same way he’s called the good ones in his life – family, and that hasn’t changed. Cas is still family, it’s just that now his relationship with Dean is very, very,  _ very  _ confusing. 

            Maybe if it wasn’t for the fact that one of them kills monsters for a living, and the other one is a  _ fucking angel _ , maybe then Dean would be able to craft a simple, pretty label for Cas. Maybe if they just were neighbours next door, with what they have now, Dean could just call Cas his boyfriend.

            No. No, he couldn’t. It doesn’t fit, it just doesn’t feel right. Cas isn’t Dean’s boyfriend or a lover, he’s… he’s someone special. Someone very special. Someone who is currently dying,  _ again _ . 

            Now isn’t the right to be sorry for himself, or dwell on his petty feelings, Dean thinks to himself as he grits his teeth, clenches his fists and chases all the emotions off of his face. Now is the time for the action, not for the pointless thinking. He can have a talk with Cas once all of this is over, once Cas is okay and Dean is too. Then they will talk. Not now.

            With his head high up, Dean goes back to the room where he’s left Sammy with Crowley, still trapped inside the demon cage. However, when Dean enters the room, the demon is calmly leaning against one of the shelves with this sly smile and satisfaction peering out of his dark eyes. 

            “What the hell, Sammy?!” Dean yells as he storms past the entrance. “You’re supposed to keep him sealed until I’m back!”

            Sam gives Dean a look that, Dean assumes, is supposed to be calming. “Yeah, but he didn’t want to talk until I let him out.”

            Dean throws his arms into the air. “It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t get started without me anyway!”

            “Actually, Squirrel,” the ex-King of Hell speaks up as he stands up straight, his hands still in the pockets of his ridiculous shorts that don’t fit him in the slightest. “We would. And we did.” He looks even more pleased now. “It just so happens, that since I’ve begun…  _ hanging around _ the two of you, and due to all the thing we’ve encountered, my knowledge about Archangels is pretty decent, if I can say so.”

            “Yeah?” Dean raises his eyebrow and shoots Crowley a threatening look.

            Crowley nods. “Yes.”

            With a loud scoff, Dean shakes his head. Then something comes over him and smacks Sam’s shoulder. “Have you lost your mind?!” he growls. “Cas is already bad, you think I need to worry about you, too!”

            Sam’s eyes widen. “Hey, calm down, Dean,” he says in a soft tone, both of his gigantic hands raised up in a defensive manner. “Don’t freak out now.”

            “I’m not freaking out!”

            “Yes, you are.” Sam sighs. “Come on, it’s  _ Crowley _ . He’s helped us. Think logically for a second, why would he want to hurt me now?” There’s some mixture of emotions painting over Sam’s features for a moment, but Dean feels too tired and too drained and too goddamn angry to ponder over what this expression might mean. “I know you’re worried about Cas, but…”

            Dean is slowly losing it. “Aren’t you?!” he screams out. “Aren’t you?! You better fucking be! You were the one to leave him the last time! You’re always the first one to leave him when some shit goes down! I’m not letting him die again! You hear me?! I’m not!”

            “Dean!” Now Sam’s voice is louder and rougher. And much more pissed. “What the fuck are you talking about?! Cas is my friend! Of course, we’re not letting him die! Why are you acting like this?!”

            And then this dreaded moment comes. The moment Dean feared for a long, very long time; for a time much longer than his fragile relationship with Cas exists; much longer than he’s let himself admit. But he did think about it and he thought about it a lot. About what it would look like, when the moment would happen, how would it feel. How right or wrong, or how sweet the words will be on his tongue and what kind of relief it will bring him, finally taking all this weight off his shoulder.

            This is none of those things. He’s not calm, and convinced, and happy to finally say it out loud. The words don’t feel right on his tongue, they burn his throat and feel bitter and dry in his mouth, like he’s tasting ash, or rather, like his heart along with all of  his guts burnt down to crisp and now he has to push all the ash out in order to breathe, even though his lungs feel like they’re full of rocks. 

            There is no pressure or tension or weight relieved; if anything Dean only feels like he’s being crushed under the absolutely shocked gazes of, both, Sam and Crowley.

            He just snaps and the words fly out on a single, ragged and shallow breath.

            “Because I love him.”

            The blood roaring in Dean’s ears is so loud he almost doesn’t hear Crowley mutter “this is getting better and better” under his breath. 

            And then Sam says something that almost makes Dean fall down to his knees. 

            “I know.”

            “What?” Dean barely can speak, or see through the tears that somehow gathered in his eyes. He rubs them furiously. Oh, God, no. He’s not crying. Not now, not here, not in front of Sammy. He’s just not. “What the hell do you mean you know?!”

            Neither of them pays attention to Crowley who slowly passes by them, still shooting them curious gazes, and disappears behind one of the shelves. 

            Sam chuckles, and this sound of relief and stupid joy is so absurd in their situation, that at first Dean wasn’t sure what even his brother is doing. “Are you serious now, Dean?” Sam rests both of his hands on his hips, all the tension and anger gone from his face. He looks genuinely happy. “You look at him like he’s a piece of freshly baked apple pie accompanied by a bottle of whiskey. And he always stares at you like he’s never seen anything more interesting, which is weird, because you’re pretty boring. It was pretty obvious. I’ve known you had hots for him for years.”

            Dean stares at Sam in silence, his mind racing. What… the fuck?! What does it mean, Sam has known it for years?! How did he even know that Dean isn’t straight, not entirely, at least? Dean was dead sure that he’s managed to teach himself to push all of the things that could ever let anyone think this for even a brief moment, and yet somehow… somehow Sam has known all this time, and…

            Oh god. Dean was purposefully not telling Sam about what he has with Cas for months, too scared to see his brother’s reaction. He knows how much it hurt Cas, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. And now Sam tells him that he knows and that means… that means that Dean has been hurting Cas for nothing.

            “Oh, and you’re really overcompensating,” Sam adds in a light tone, still grinning like he’s forgotten what situation they’re in. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with liking guys.”

            “I don’t…” Dean rasps out. He clears his throat and tries again: “It’s not like… Cas is an angel, for fuck’s sake.”

            Sam shrugs. “Yeah, but he’s an angel in a male body, so…”

            “Are you seriously more concerned about him in a male vessel than being a timeless wavelength of light?”

            “I’m concerned about neither,” Sam says with amusement.

            “Boys…” Crowley’s voice pulls Dean out of his train of thoughts, successfully bringing him back from whining over his petty problems. “I don’t want to destroy this beautiful confession scene, but there’s an archangel in your living room.”


	14. RETURN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm. I don't really know what to tell you, folks. Life got a little busy and a little different for me recently, new things popped up, some fell away and writing was about the last thing I had my head for. I know that after such a long time, you all deserve something much better than a poor, 1.5k word chapter but the truth is, I'm at some kind of a burnout and I'm not even sure if I'll be able to finish this fanfic at all, even though I only have one or two more chapters planned for it. But I will do my best; I just want you to know that I didn't forget about you, and I still really do appreciate all of the support you were giving me even when I was gone, and that I will do my best to pull this story to the end.
> 
> Also, SHAMELESS PROMO, I have a Tumblr with fanarts  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/iamkathastrophe

Gabriel hasn’t changed even a little bit. He still has the same vessel, a short guy with weirdly golden eyes and uneven stubble, it still feels like he’s talking all the space in the room and, of course, he still has this irritating smirk on his lips. Like he has just won an argument like he is in the right again. But he certainly doesn’t look like someone whose younger brother has been in agony for the past days.

            “What the fuck,” are the first words to leave Dean’s mouth when he storms into the main room of the bunker, completely ignoring the fact that just seconds ago he had tears in his eyes and he could barely choke incoherent words out. As it has happened many times ago, it all drowned in the hot, burning rage spreading through his body. 

            As it should have been expected, Gabriel’s smirk only widens as he shoves both of his hands into the pockets of his ugly green jacket and tilts his head to the side. “That a way to greet a friend after so many years?” he asks casually as if they only talked to each other yesterday. Not like it’s been nearly a decade since Lucifer turned him into a shish kebab.

            Dean doesn’t even have the nerves to respond to that. He just quickly walks across the room and takes a swing at the archangel. He can almost hear his bones crack as his fist meets Gabriel’s chin.

            “Motherfuck!” Dean howls, pressing his injured hand tightly against his chest. Oh, God, it’s been a while since he’s tried punching an angel. He forgot that it’s not the best idea, not as long as you don’t have angel blades implanted under your skin. 

            When Gabriel starts laughing, the rest of the people in the room, Crowley included, look at him as if the archangel wasn’t all right in the head. Not that he has ever been, but the situation they are currently in is just ridiculous. Cas is left alone in his bedroom, probably with another nightmare, the ex-King of Hell has fluffy slippers and shorts, Dean just broke his hand by punching someone and there is an archangel with tears of joy in his eyes. What the fuck.

            “Gabriel,” Sam finally speaks up, as usual being the voice of reason. But Dean doesn’t fail to notice a strange note in his little brother’s tone, something almost like sorrow, or this bittersweet feeling he gets whenever something bad happens, but everything turns out just fine in the end. Then again, Dean is currently a hot mess who’s just finished having a mental breakdown, and now there is a radiating pain creeping up his arm. His head is not exactly clear, so it’s most likely that he’s just imagining things.

            “Gabriel, you’re alive. What the fuck?” Sam just keeps going, despite the fact that there clearly is not a single soul in the whole United States able to comprehend the morbid ridiculousness of this scene. “I, I have so,  _ so _ many questions right now,” the younger of the Winchesters nearly exclaims. “Why are you alive? Where have you been?  _ How _ are you alive? Just a few years ago we talked to your dad, and he claimed that he…”

            “Doesn’t have enough mojo to bring his prodigal son back?” the archangel interrupts this speech. “That he needs some special kind of mojo to bring one of us, archangels, back to the existence? And then he just vanishes with aunt Amara?” Gabriel nods in a cartoonishly exaggerated way. “It’s almost like he works in mysterious ways, isn’t it?”

            It only pisses Dean even more. “Cut the shit, would you?” he straightens up, although there is still pain pulsating from his hand. It’s already beginning to swell, but there are just too many things needing his attention for Dean to focus on something as trivial as a few broken bones. “Shit, I forgot how much this guy pisses me off,” he grunts and shakes his head. “But seriously, cut the shit now! What you’re doing here? What you’re doing  _ back at all? _ ”

            “And what do you think I’m doing, Winchester?” Gabriel replies with another question, successfully increasing the level of Dean’s irritation. “The angels are dying, but you already know that. That’s why I’m here.”

            Sam scrunches his eyebrows, confused, although he seems like he still had some difficulties with keeping his emotions at bay. 

            “Excuse me,” Crowley interrupts for the first time since he’s called the brothers into the room. “The angels are   _ what _ ?”

            “They’re dying,” Gabriel replies, although he looks at Crowley with a mixture of disgust and reluctance. “You know, this thing when you stop living? You should know, you did it more than once. We all did.”

            Dean exhales slowly through his nose. Of course. Of, fucknig, course it’s something bigger. Of course, it’s not only Cas who’s in pain,  _ of course _ there’s the whole “bigger picture” and another disaster upcoming.  _ Of course, of course, of course _ . God, Sam and Dean were  _ blind _ ! They’ve focused too much on what’s wrong with Cas and forgot to see if it’s happening anywhere else. But that’s no wonder, they’ve been locked in the bunker since Cas got sick.

            He nods and snorts a hysterical laughter. “Angels are dying,” he repeats. “Of course they are, it’s not like we can go a year without some kind of mass-destruction coming our way.” He shakes his head. “And of course  _ that’s why _ you’re here. And for a second I thought you’re just being a good brother.”

            The expression on Gabriel’s face drastically changes. It goes from relaxed and cocky to downright angry and frustrated in less than a second. “Listen here, you arrogant dick,” Gabriel growls at him, and Dean could swear there are glimpses of light peeking through his pupils. “You are about the last person to lecture me about healthy relationships with my siblings, alright? So if you shut your cakehole, that’d be much appreciated.”

            “Alright, alright, alright!” Sam raises his hands up in the air and shoots both of them a sharp look. “We’re not gonna fight! Not now! You,” he glances over at Dean, “you calm down, or go check on Cas. And you,” he turns to Gabriel, “you, oh,  _ you _ have got some explaining to do.”

            Gabriel just rolls his eyes, hands still in the pockets of his jeans. “If you say so, hotshot. But there ain’t much explaining to be done,” he announces. “I ‘s dead, now I’m not. That’s about it.”

            Sam exhales very, very slowly. “This is not good enough, Gabe,” he states, some kind of determination suddenly appearing in his posture, voice and the way his eyes shine. “Being dead for a decade and then just turning up when we need you, this is not good enough. It’s just… not enough, alright?”

            There is something in between Sam and Gabriel clearly going on, something that Dean cannot ignore, but at the same time, something he can’t quite put his finger on. Could it be that there was something ever between his straight brother and this archangel? Well, it doesn’t matter either way. What matters now is that this little rat is here and he is  _ so _ going to help them with getting Cas better. Otherwise, there will be blood.

            “I ain’t going anywhere,” Dean says. “Not as long as he doesn’t fix Cas.”

            Gabriel looks at him. “And what makes you think that I can do that? Just because I’m an archangel, you think I can snap my fingers and make a Knights’ curse go away?”  
Silence. Even more goddamn silence.

            This time, Crowley is the one to break it.

            “There are no more Knights of Hell,” he says. “Abaddon and Cain were the last ones. They’re both dead, and…” 

            “Oh, it’s really no wonder that you’re not the King of Hell anymore if you don’t even know how many Knights there are,” Gabriel suddenly snarls at him. “My brothers and sisters are dying, you really think I’d be messin’ around with makin’ up stories? Stupid demon.” 

            Crowley’s eyebrows elevate high on his forehead. He looks like Gabriel just slapped him across the face, and this is no wonder; even in his current state, it’s obvious that the demon isn’t used to people disrespecting him in such a manner. And he should be, after so many years of dealing with Sam and Dean. 

            “I thought all of the Knights are gone, too,” Gabriel tells them. “At least that’s what I heard so far. Believe me or not, being an archangel isn’t that easy to hide and I don’t have much of my mojo left.” He sighs. “Well, kiddos, it’s your lucky day, because I just happen to know what is happening and who is doing it.”

            “Care to enlighten us?” Dean asks.

            “Beelzebub.” 


End file.
